Reap What You Sow
by Angel of Clay
Summary: Needed for by the government for an undercover operation, Tony has been "dead" for a little over a year. What are the team's reactions to his return? How did it even happen in the first place?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Here we go with the standard do not own it, make no money off of it, just having some fun. **

**A/N Updated**: **So this is my very first attempt at NCIS fanfic. It was originally intended to be a one-shot but it has grown into a longer piece partly by request and partly because the plot bunnies attacked as soon as I posted it. The chapter that follows is the original edited for some minor spelling errors. If you are curious as to what happened before and after, read on!**

As soon as the elevator doors opened Tony could hear the music coming from the lab, well 'hear' might be the wrong word, 'feel' was more like it. Her music always had a reverberating quality that was as much a part of it as the actual sound. He let out a sigh, willing himself to walk forward. "My death hasn't affected her music taste, maybe everything will be okay," he muttered trying to be optimistic as he made his way tentatively towards the door.

When he was just inside the doorway he stood still and watched her work. It was early in the morning and yet it looked as though she had been at it for awhile. If the futon he saw on her office floor was any indication, she hadn't gone home last night. He wondered if one of the other teams had a really big case that required the long hours or if she was just working more. Was it selfish to hope that there was a case? He didn't want to be the reason she started working herself into the ground.

She was completely absorbed; it looked like she was preparing some evidence for DNA analysis, running a fingerprint scan and no doubt at least half a dozen other tests with all of her babies. He immediately wondered who died, if this was really important maybe he shouldn't interrupt. His mind couldn't conceive of a single way that this little revelation would go anywhere near well and if she needed to concentrate on work then…on the other hand, if he came back to life to anyone but her first, she would kill him and leave no forensic evidence.

Continuing with his observations, he looked around the lab. He found a picture of himself hanging on one of the walls, rimmed in black ribbon with a silk black rose attached. Next to the picture were all of the postcards he sent her from his time as Agent Afloat. She had erected a permanent memorial to him, God this must've been hard for her, she didn't even do this for Kate, and he was pretty sure that Kate had been her best friend.

Sighing quietly, definitely too quiet to be heard over the music he turned his attention to her person. She looked much the same, her perennially happy pigtails were still there, the decidedly Goth makeup hadn't changed, although he noticed she was wearing the blood red lipstick that he once remembered saying that he preferred to the jet black. Her posture was a little off, there wasn't a happy spring in the way that she walked and stood. What he could see of her face showed that she wasn't sleeping well, and hadn't been for a long time. He could see the telltale signs of someone who has learned to live on less sleep in the way that her eyes squinted a little at the computer screen as though it needed more focus, in the way that those same eyes would close for a second longer than necessary every few blinks just to get enough moisture back to function. Most telling of all though, was the way that she didn't smile. Didn't even come close. Gone was the happy demeanor, and the animated sparkle that she would get from the thrill of the chase. She was like a shell, or a painting without depth, or a body without a soul. More than a year later, she was still very much grieving his loss. Oh that killed him more than anything! She was in pain, and he was the reason.

He couldn't put this off any longer. He coughed to get her attention. Nothing, the music still drowned him out. He stood up from leaning on the doorframe and took another step in the lab. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again just as quickly. 'What do I say? I'm back, did you miss me? That'd just be cruel.' Instead he reached back a little and knocked on the doorframe loud enough to be heard over the noise. She whirled around in an irritated huff at being interrupted without first being plied with Caf-Pow and looked like she was about to say something, but stood stalk still as her eyes fell on him. From the wide-eyed unblinking look on her face he wasn't sure that she didn't think that he was just a hallucination. He was going to have to speak.

"Abby," he began, but his voice caught when her eyes welled up with tears and they began to spill down her face, leaving mascara tracks in their wake. Still she didn't move a muscle.

"Abby," he said again, stronger, yet softer than before. "I'm so sorry, Abby. I really wanted…but I couldn't…it wouldn't have been safe…I couldn't risk…I'm so sorry Abs." It was really lame, but he couldn't think of what else to say. How could he possibly explain? Where would he even start?

On her part there was still no movement, no response at all. Shit this was bad, worse than he'd thought it would be. He'd expected her to yell, he wanted her to scream at him, tell him that it was so wrong of him to just go off and leave them all in a lurch. To go and be dead and not tell them that it wasn't true. That she hated him for hurting her, hurting all of them, and saying all of those things while hugging the crap out of him. That was how she should react, that would be typical Abby. He wanted to hear those words because that's what he felt about the whole situation, and like it or not she had always been the voice of his conscience.

"Abby, you don't have to say anything," he gave her an excuse to stay silent, as if she needed one. "Let me explain," he said calmly even though he still had no idea how to do that, might as well start at the beginning, "You see I didn't know that it was going to happen. After work I was approached by some NSA-types who told me that there was a really important undercover operation that I was needed for. They really didn't give me a lot of options. I had to go with them to protect all of you and a lot of innocent lives. I didn't know that they were going to fake my death until it had already happened, and then they said that I couldn't say anything or it would put you all in danger," he paused to see if any of this was having any affect on the forensic scientist. Nope, nothing. Damn.

"I know I broke your "Don't lie to Abby" rule, I know that. I wish that I didn't have to; I wish that I had been able to tell you. I really wish that it had all happened after that Rabid Sea Monkeys concert that I was supposed to take you to, because I really don't like it when you go to those places on your own. It's not safe Abby. You should at least…Oh God, I'm rambling…" he paused, "I really hate that I left you alone, Abs. I'm…I'm really, really sorry."

Still nothing, could it be shock?

He looked down at the floor, not able to look at her tear-stained face and completely still body any longer. The silence and stillness stretched out a little bit, well silence sort of, the music still filled the air. It was as if they caught in a picture that was set to that brain numbing, ear splitting music. He sighed heavily, and wiped a hand over his face, then through his hair. He looked up at her again.

"I just need to know Abs. Is there any possible…any conceivable way that I might be able…in time…lots of time, like in the next thirty years or so… be able to convince you to maybe…forgive me?" He finished, unconsciously holding his breath waiting for an answer.

Again, absolutely nothing. He closed his eyes and let out the breath he had been holding. He didn't know how he was going to take it. He couldn't bear the idea that she was might hate him for the rest of her life, or give him the cold shoulder, which would somehow be worse. He hated that there was nothing that he could do to make it better. This would eventually eat him alive.

He was lost in these thoughts with his eyes closed, so he didn't see it. Her eyes flickered a little and she moved. It was a small movement, but it was a movement, and it was forward. Once she began, there was really no stopping; she picked up speed as she closed the gap between them, throwing herself completely at him with no restraint.

He caught her as she slammed into him, only quick reflexes and a good amount of strength keeping them both upright. She was shaking in his arms, sobbing wholeheartedly into his shirt, grasping and holding as much of him as she could get a hold on. He held her tightly, whispered nonsense into her hair, and kissed the top of her head. She hadn't said anything yet, but she would, and the tirade would be epic, but it didn't matter. He deserved it, and he would take it; he knew she had already forgiven him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to NCIS, nor is any profit being made. I merely invited the characters in to play, and we all had a good time together…well, aside from some head-slaps.**

**Un-beta'd all mistakes are mine and mine alone**

_-One year, two months and six days earlier- _

"Oh come on! You have to go with me! The Rabid Sea Monkeys are awesome! They're gonna be like the next Deathswitch!" Abby was in full pleading, pouting mode. "You said that you liked Deathswitch. Oh come on! Please, it'll be _fun!_"

"I said that I preferred Deathswitch, as in preferred it to the other music that you play down here. There's a _big_ difference," Tony countered, but Abby just dismissively waived that off as she turned back to her computer and continued inputting ballistics information for a case that another team was investigating, when she finished she whirled back to him and again stared at him with those pleading eyes. How could anyone manage to be pleading, pouting, and bouncing at the same time? Tony really didn't know, but she pulled it off. Maybe she was bouncing because she knew that he would cave? It didn't really matter.

He sighed, "Alright, but we eat first and I get to pick the place."

There had never really been any doubt that he was going to go with her to this thing, he was only protesting for form's sake. In reality, if she hadn't invited him he would have managed to go anyway, either by inviting himself, or surreptitiously following. The kinds of clubs that booked bands like Deathswitch and Rabid Sea Monkeys were a little _too_ wild and were certainly _not_ in the best parts of the city, and Abby was too attractive and too large-hearted to go into those places alone. It wasn't safe, at least not in his book, and after Mikel…well staying on the safe side was a really good idea, even if it meant a little stalking.

She squealed and wrapped him in her normal bone crushing hug. "Oh you're the best! We're gonna have so much fun! I can't wait; I wish it were next week already!"

Tony smiled, Abby was certainly enthusiastic, and he knew that the evening would be at least mostly enjoyable, you simply couldn't go out with Abby and not have a good time.

"Me too Abs, 'cause if it were, it'd also mean we have some time off." The team had been working harder than normal these past few weeks. A high profile marine had been murdered with no obvious leads; then there was a missing kid that turned into a case of find the terrorist before he can blow up a school. All in all it made for really long hours and Tony was looking forward to a little R&R.

"Say Abs, it's getting kinda late. You planning on leaving anytime soon?" Tony asked nonchalantly checking his watch.

"Are down here so that you can walk me to my car? Aw, that's totally sweet!"

"No my mistress of the dark, I'm down here because I haven't seen much of one of my favorite people in the world this past week, and she's been known to get cranky if I don't visit." He said honestly with a genuine smile as he straightened out from leaning on the counter and reached the coat and backpack that he brought down with him. "But it _is_ late, and since I haven't seen my apartment in two days I think I'll be heading out."

"Alright, alright, just hang on mister, I'll shut down a few of my babies and get my coat. I know that you'll be happier if you get to see that I make it safely to my car, even if you won't say so, and even though it's still inside the security of the Navy Yard."

He waited in the doorway as she went through the process of turning off the high-tech expensive equipment. He chuckled softly as he heard her speaking to them, praising them for a good day's work, and telling them goodnight. "Aren't you forgetting Bert?" he asked when he saw that she had gathered her purse and coat.

"No, Bert has to keep guard over my babies that have to work overtime, and anyway it's not Friday." She said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Ah, how could I forget" Tony said with another chuckle.

As they entered the elevator, "So, just _one_ of your favorite people?" Abby queried with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

"Well, it's not exactly a long list Abs," he said with a smile.

*NCIS*NCIS*NICS*

Tony entered his apartment a little while later, setting the majority of his things down on the small hall table as he turned on the lights. He took a quick almost unconscious scan of the visible rooms, being a cop for so many years it was nearly impossible to break the habit of clearing a room like that. Satisfied he moved to the kitchen to see if he had any edible food left.

"Why do I buy food that can spoil?" he absently asked the empty apartment closing his refrigerator. He should clean it out while he was here, who knows what tomorrow might bring. On the other hand it was late and he hated cleaning the refrigerator almost as much as he hated dusting.

"I should see if Marci can take me on again," he muttered. He had let his maid go when he had been agent afloat, and the place had definitely suffered for it. She had always made sure to clear out the icky stuff before it started to grow new forms of penicillin. He took a look in the cupboard with equal distain, everything was expired, or unappetizing at this time of night. Takeout, that was definitely going to be the order of the night, but not until after he went for a run.

Back out in the dark night, and a little over two thirds of the way through his normal run course Tony noticed the same car that was a couple of miles back in front of him again. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the car memorizing the license plate number. It wasn't a car that he recognized, and although seeing an unfamiliar car in the neighborhood was not an uncommon thing he was still uneasy. His instincts said that something was just off about the whole situation. The car was between him and home, but that didn't mean that he had to continue on his route, there were lots of ways back to his apartment building from the street he was on, so he switched to a different tack hoping that the strange feeling he was getting was just his imagination.

It wasn't.

He picked up his pace as soon as he made the turn on to the side street and very soon he heard the sound of an engine gunning and the squeal of tires, he didn't have to look back to know that it was the same car. Well shit, this was bad. Tony thought about his options. There was no way he could out-run a car, and this being a mainly residential area and late at night it wasn't as if there were many options for stores or coffee shops that he could enter to try and lose them. Catch a bus or a taxi? He'd have to have both timing and luck to pull that off, and he didn't have money anyway. Tony really, really wanted to put as much distance between him and the mystery car as possible, but it just wasn't feasible. Time to take up a defensive position and see if he could make it through the coming confrontation.

His mind made up, Tony dashed into an alleyway just as the car came into view on the street. He sought cover behind a dumpster and pulled his backup weapon from his ankle holster. Crouched in position he tried to calm his breathing and keep watch on what was happening by covertly surveying the entrance to the alley from the space between the wall and the dumpster. The car roared past the alley, but he didn't think that they would be fooled long by his dive for the alleyway so he waited. Sure enough, the car backed up and then turned slowly into the alley.

Crouched low, Tony watched the car as it pulled forward towards his position. It was a black non-descript midsized sedan, the kind that multiple federal agencies use, and he could just barely make out that there were two occupants. Two against one, not bad…not good either, but hey, when had he actually paid attention to the odds? The car pulled to a stop about twenty feet from the dumpster and both of the occupants stepped out.

"Agent DiNozzo!" the driver's-side guy shouted into the alley. "Come out from your position, we just want to talk!"

Talk, yeah right, Tony thought. Everyone who just wants to chat stalks him on his run and then pursues him into a dark alleyway. Part of Tony's mind berated him, dying in a dark alleyway, the hapless victim in the early scenes of a dirty cop movie, way to go DiNozzo! The rest was wondering if he should risk answering. He decided against it, if they were serious about talking, they would already know that they'd need to provide more information.

Right on cue passenger-side guy said, "Agent DiNozzo, it is a pressing matter of national security, we _need_ to speak to you. Please come out from behind the dumpster."

Well damn, so they did know where he was. To be expected, Tony thought, there aren't many other places he could have concealed himself, guess now was the time to answer. "I don't think so; see if I come out from behind this dumpster I'll be a really easy target, and besides we're talking right now."

"It's a matter of national security. We'd like to talk with you privately." Passenger-side guy again, sounded like he was annoyed.

"Then we're going to need to come up with a better plan, 'cause I'm not coming out, and if you try to come and get me I'll shoot you."

Silence reigned in the alley for a few moments and Tony thought that he could see the pair looking frustrated at his lack of cooperation. "There is a park back up the street-"

"Nowhere near public enough," Tony interrupted, "Open coffee shop four blocks away, be there in fifteen minutes, sit in front of the big window and keep your hands visible on the table."

Tony couldn't help holding his breath as he waited for them to make a decision. He cocked his gun in preparation for the worst and the sound echoed slightly in the alleyway.

"Okay, okay," driver's-side guy said with an air of resignation, "We'll meet there."

Tony saw both of them get back into their car and heard one of them say to the other something that may have been "stubborn bastard" and then the car backed out of the alley and continued down the street towards the coffee shop. Tony cautiously left his position and stared at the empty alley. They were gone, but what was he going to do now?

**A/N: Up next, we go back to the present time and see Tim McGee.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to NCIS and this little endeavor does not create any sort of cash flow. It is simply an excuse to indulge my rather over-active imagination and strengthen my creative writing skills.**

Tony was back in the elevator. Of course, Abby hadn't wanted him to leave yet, she would have preferred that he stay in her sight all day so that she could look up at any moment she wanted and reassure herself that he was really there, but she relented when he said that he needed to see the rest of the team before the news of his return went out over the wire; he didn't want the people that he cared about learning that he was really alive through an impersonal email. So instead, they had taken down the memorial on her wall together and he'd agreed to text her every couple of hours or so. Sure, it was a little clingy, but after his the past year he figured it was the least he could do. After he had got her to stop crying and they actually talked for a bit, he was reasonably sure that they would be able to get past this and achieve something close to normalcy eventually, but there would be an adjustment period.

Now he was going back up to the bullpen. He'd gone to autopsy first, but neither Ducky nor Jimmy were in yet, so he'd decided to take the bull by the horns and face the team. It wasn't as if he hadn't done the miraculous reappearance before, after all the entire team had watched his beloved mustang explode in an enormous fireball. But back then he'd really only been "presumed dead" for a few hours, so walking in with a couple of flippant quips could be forgiven since his life and mission had quite literally been blown to hell. This time though, he had gone voluntarily…well not really. Still, looking back on it now he saw many things that he could have done that might have made this situation easier if it were still necessary at all.

"Enough crying over spilt milk DiNozzo," he told himself "right now it's time to focus on damage control."

The elevator dinged and he stepped off, ready to face his teammates in the bullpen only to find that McGee and McGee alone was there. Tony frowned slightly, he'd really wanted this to be a one and done sort of a thing. He knew Gibbs was here, and since he wasn't in the bullpen he was probably up in the director's office yelling at Nate to yell at the NSA to fix this mess, and hashing out the details of his reinstatement with Vance. Now Ziva, he checked his watch, Ziva wasn't technically late, just late for her. Well, late for her the last time he saw her.

Tony shook his head. So much time. With the dangerous nature of their jobs, things around here could change in a matter of days or weeks, and he'd been gone for more than a year! He went to lean on the partition of the bullpen to try and get a bead on his probie before the younger man noticed him.

Tim McGee. The man had started out a greener than grass probie, he'd been halfway to useless in the field, but they took him on anyway. From day one, Tony had started in with his unorthodox training methods. Part guidance and part torment, with a healthy dose of humbling grunt work. Tony had been determined to make a federal agent out of the computer geek that they found in Norfolk. Sure, they had had their misunderstandings and rough patches, but they had come through to the other side, and became better friends because of it. As Tony looked at McGee now, he could see the end product of all of that time and effort, and he couldn't possibly be more proud of the man. Tim was every inch the capable, confident federal agent he had always had the potential to be.

Tony observed that Tim was bent over paperwork, filling out some of the inevitable forms that come with any investigation. Use of force on a suspect, discharging a weapon, use of the motor pool cars, use of any special equipment, hell there was probably a form for breathing around evidence. Tony swore that the motto of the entire federal government was "Document, document and then document in triplicate." The only upside to this was that there was literally a government form for _everything._ Come back from the dead? Tony knew he'd be filling out paperwork well into next month, but at least the paperwork was there to fill out. A large sigh from the man he had been watching drew him from his musings.

Tim had leaned back in his chair, fingers massaging at his temples. Frustration was coming off the probie in waves. Yep, paperwork could make anyone go insane. With Tim leaning back Tony was able to notice that his probie seemed weighed down more than he used to. It was like someone had attached invisible dumbbells on invisible string and attached them to Tim's shoulders. 'Weight of responsibility, he's been the SFA for a year now,' Tony reminded himself with a bit of a pang. Would the younger man resent him for coming back? It was best not to think about that yet. After all, Gibbs was still up with Vance which meant that there were still plenty of details yet to be decided.

From his pocket, Tim took out a phone, and started tapping away at something. A little break from the mind numbing forms, a distraction, Tony smiled, obviously Tim had slipped into at least one of his bad habits, playing games on company time. It took a minute for the sounds of the game to register, and then Tony took a harder look at the piece of equipment in Tim's hands. 'He's playing Tetris on my phone!' Tony couldn't control the laughter that spilled out after that realization, but then cringed inwardly when Tim promptly fell out of his chair at the noise.

"Hey man, I'm sorry I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Tony said as he quickly came around to the younger agent who was sitting dumbfounded on the floor.

"T-Tony?" Tim's tone was one of incredulity "But, but you're dead!"

"Well, um…about that… not really." Tony took a hold of one of McGee's elbows and hauled him off the floor and back onto his feet. The quick, fierce hug surprised Tony. One learned to expect hugs from Abby, she was a hugger. Tim? Not so much. But barely before he could blink Tim released him and leaned back on his desk for support.

"Tony." McGee was staring, his mind fervently trying to keep up with and process the information, and then he suddenly snapped back into focus. "What the hell happened?" he asked with more than a little exasperation in his voice.

Tony sighed, feeling his guilt increase. It was the same problem as with Abby, how could he even begin to explain? Tim noticed his demeanor and posture, "You were undercover, weren't you?" Well, no one had ever accused the younger man of being stupid.

"Yeah," Tony said quietly.

"And for the mission your real self needed to be dead." Tim continued on with his reasoning in a detached sort of a way. "That way, the mission could take as long as it had to without anyone coming to look for you and raising suspicions."

Anger visibly bubbled in returned prodigal. "You've read the handbook, I see. But it's complete bullshit. The only reason that the NSA did it was to make sure that if I died out there none of you would interfere with their precious operation. Well, that and they figured if we were successful it would be easier to poach me if they made returning to my old life as difficult as possible." Tony sighed, anger leaving as quickly as it had come. "It doesn't matter though, -"

"'Cause you're coming back no matter how difficult the process is." Tim finished for him.

The doubt of whether or not McGee would want him to come back flared up, "Look man, you've been at this for awhile, and things are still really up in the air-"

"Stop," Tim said forcefully, "Your place is SFA on this team, right here. It's where you belong. No one can do it like you." Tim gestured to the paperwork filled desk behind him "Which should be obvious to everyone."

Tony sat back on the edge of his old, noticeably empty, desk and contemplated the former probie. He hated it when the man began to deprecate his skills, "Tim, you're more than capable-"

McGee cut him off with a hand gesture. "In time probably, but it's just that…this…well, it's not easy. Let's just put it that way."

They were silent for a moment, lost a little in reflection and contemplation, and as Tim took in the sight of his wayward friend leaning so naturally on the desk, his eyes narrowed slightly as comprehension dawned. "Gibbs knew, didn't he? That's why he scared off every agent that the director saddled us with. God, I should've-"

"He didn't know immediately. He found out sometime around my funeral, I think. He was told not to tell anyone, and not only because he shouldn't have been told I was alive in the first place. There was a very good chance that… the likelihood that we'd come back was not that great."

"Was it that bad?"

"Yeah," Tony answered quietly, pain evident in his voice. "That could be a bit of an understatement. But it looks like you guys have been busy this past year, too," he gestured back to the paperwork on Tim's desk, effectively changing the topic.

"You have no idea," Tim said with an exasperated sigh, "There's certainly been no rest for the weary. And on top of all that every single FC-H4385 form I've turned in has been rejected! I've got an eight to ten month backlog of paperwork."

"You've needed a lot of helicopters this past year?" Tony asked with a quirked eyebrow.

"What? No, we've never needed a helicopter. I don't even want to think about the paperwork using one would- wait, what?"

"The H-series forms are for heavy, specialized equipment like helicopters, drones, satellite time, and other things like that."

"Oh God," McGee's shoulders slumped, "Accounting has probably been laughing their asses off at my expense this whole time." A frustrated sigh escaped.

"Well, yeah Probie." Tony said with a small smile, "But accountants generally have a really strange sense of humor. Someone should have explained-" Tony's sentence trailed off as he realized what he'd said.

"Probie," Tim said with a slight smile, "No one's called me Probie in more than a year. Well, Abby tried once or twice when she was trying to help me, but it hurt too much for her to do it."

"Tim, I-" Tony tried for an explanation.

"No, Tony it's not that, I know that it and the other nicknames are not malicious, it's just the way you operate. A slightly twisted form of affection."

"We gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think we are." McGee picked up a stack of papers off his desk, and shoved them in Tony's hands. "Especially since you are going to help me with this mess."

Tony laughed.

**A/N: So this one was harder for me than Abby, I hope I got it right. For those of you who will ask, Nate is an OC and you'll meet him later. Next up: we go back to the past and find out about the mission.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Do I still have to say this? I know that I don't own NCIS; you know that I don't own NCIS; I know that you know that I know that I don't own NCIS. This is all in good fun and no profit is being made.**

**A/N: I only read through this once, if there are spelling or grammatical errors, I am really sorry.**

Tony was lost in a maelstrom of thoughts as he walked an erratic and confusing route to the coffee shop where he sent the two (possibly federal) goons to wait for him. Foremost in his mind was that forgetting his cell phone at home was a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do. Never be unreachable, rule three. Strict adherence to rule three also meant that backup was always just a phone call away. Now he was out here alone, and the feeling of unease that he had picked up before the alleyway confrontation had blossomed into a full blown sense of impending doom.

Coming in sight of the coffee shop, by way of the shadows of a building across the street, Tony could see the car that had been in the alleyway parked on the same side of the street and a little bit further down. He looked at the big front window of the shop and saw both of his new friends at the table that he specified, hands visible. "At least they are capable of following instructions," he mumbled to the dark around him. "Is that a mark in their favor?" Checking his watch he found that he had a few minutes before he was supposed to go in and play nice, so he stayed in the shadows and contemplated just not showing up at all. But they knew his name and his normal jogging route, they would have to be grossly incompetent, or morons if they _didn't_ know where he lived, and he wouldn't want to face them there. Home turf really had few advantages in this scenario.

_National Security?_ Tony's mind kept being drawn back to that. How could it be possible that they needed to talk to him on a national security matter, and why would they ignore all of the standard procedures for involving him? He sighed, there were no answers out here, and he would need more information, need all of the details if he was going to figure out the answer to his most pressing question. Is there a way out of this?

He continued to stay in the shadows as he walked down the street some more before crossing to the other side so that he could approach the coffee shop from the south, he didn't know why, it just felt better coming up to the building from the south. He walked through the door and both of the company men looked up as if their heads were connected to the same string that had been jerked roughly by some unseen puppet master. Tony spent a fraction of a second looking at them; their hands resting on the table, eyes slightly narrowed, looking at him as if he might be a problem child, nearly identical non-descript suits, postures wary but determined. Tony almost laughed, but at least now he was sure that these two idiots were from one of the agencies in the alphabet soup. Only agency bureaucrats who hadn't seen fieldwork in years knew how to make a clandestine intelligence meeting look _exactly_ like a clandestine intelligence meeting.

Oh well, he could work with it, not that there were that many other patrons in the place at this time of night, mostly just students taking advantage of the establishment's free Wi-Fi. Tony walked straight up to the suit on the right side of the table, certain he was the driver from their earlier encounter, and slapped him on the shoulder, "Hey Lefty! Sorry I'm late; I got a little held up. You should've ordered though, it's just coffee, no need to wait," he said cheerily.

'Lefty' scowled at him, no doubt not enamored of his new nickname, and responded coolly, "Yes, well-"

"That's okay though, I'll just order yours with mine," Tony turned to the other man at the table, "You must be Eric, Lefty has told me a lot about you, and no doubt he's spun some crazy stories about me but I assure you they are complete fabrications. Anyway, it's great to finally meet you." Tony offered his hand to the newly dubbed 'Eric' who took it slowly, looking at him like he was just escaped from a mental institution. "I am really happy for the two of you," Tony continued, "I've been telling Lefty for years that there is no reason to be so secretive, love is love, right? I should probably order, say Lefty can I bum some cash off you? I promise I'll have it back to you Monday morning."

Tony just smiled in the face of the mutinous glare that Lefty was now wearing, and ignored Eric trying to hide the deep scarlet blush that now covered his features while taking the money that was handed to him. He walked to the counter and ordered two black coffees and his hazelnut latte along with a slice of the cheesecake. He didn't particularly want the food, in all honesty he felt a little sick, but it would make a good prop. As he waited for everything, he watched the pair of suits argue in low voices, he snickered, he didn't think he really hit a nerve with Eric, but he definitely proved that he could be an annoying ass to work with.

As he sat down at their table and distributed the coffee, Lefty decided to speak up before Tony, "That was certainly a performance, Agent DiNozzo, although it was probably unnecessary as the majority went unnoticed by the customers."

Tony shrugged a shoulder slightly, "Whatever you say man, but I usually find it's better to be safe than sorry. So, which of the illustrious lettered agencies do you two hail from? And just what is so important that you couldn't use proper channels?"

"Down to business now I see," Lefty said with a fake smile, "I am Agent Brian Chambers, and this is Agent Logan Sparks, NSA. And we are bypassing standard procedures because you have specific personal knowledge of this case."

"I have knowledge of lots of things. It happens you know, when you've been doing a job for ten years, but I can't remember anything that would cause the NSA to start jumping to put out a fire." Tony said around a bite of his cheesecake and making gestures with his fork.

"We aren't talking about anything that you've encountered in your time at NCIS," Sparks this time.

"Do you guys take a course on being vague and cryptic or something?" Tony said with a small amount of frustration leaking into his voice, "'cause I gotta say, it's really inefficient, I mean, you did say "important national security matter" which makes a person think that there is some sort of urgency-"

"Operation Dust Buster"

Tony blinked, keeping his face composed into perfect calm, despite his immediate thoughts. Shit, Philadelphia. That had not been one of his favorites, and not just because of the stupid name. The thing could have been called Operation Fishing Net or Betty Boop and it wouldn't have mattered. It had been an absolute hell of an undercover job, and then when they were so close to the end he could almost taste it, he was pulled because the FBI took over. Now Tony was a good sport, or at least he had been back then, just so long as they brought Velasquez _down_, but no, the FBI screwed the pooch and came away with nothing.

Tony leaned back and smiled "Is Martin still alive? Jesus, he would be almost eighty by now. I still don't see how this could possibly be a national security matter. FBI and ATF maybe, but I think you're still going to need to specific."

"Martin Velasquez died in prison four and a half years ago; all intelligence sources say that his son Jose is now running the organization." Agent Sparks supplied.

"Okay…and?" At this point Tony thought it might be easier to coax information out of a brick wall. Why was he doing this anyway? It wasn't like he wanted to be here, he thought. He still thought that this was going to go somewhere very very bad, he should just get up and walk away. "Look, the man that the FBI sent in after they pulled me would have all the information I got, I don't see why you need me." Tony made to get up.

"Agent Greggson was made as an undercover fed within two weeks of going in and was executed by Jose personally. There was no way to convict him, lack of physical evidence and an iron clad alibi. Ever since, any police force or agency that has tried to send someone in has lost their man within two months." Chambers calmly said.

Tony's gut twisted, "That makes sense, Jose is smart, and he is a paranoid bastard."

"He trusted you, we need-"

"No," Tony cut Chambers off, "I'm not going back. I don't care if my cover _is_ still intact, which by the way is unlikely now, I'm not going back. And you still haven't said how this is important to national security."

"Look," Agent Sparks said sharply, "We have learned that Velasquez is now working closely with known Al-Qaida supporters in the Middle East."

"What! That doesn't even make sense!" Tony objected "The Velasquez organization model is drugs and guns. The drugs come from the family lands in Columbia and the guns come from wherever the hell they can get them. Jose wouldn't be so stupid as to get involved in something that could get him heat from international organizations."

"Apparently the amount of money he nets from these activities makes the risk worth it. We know that the Velasquez organization gets product from Afghanistan and then disposes of it here, the profits are then split between organizations."

"What's the product?"

"Opium is the most likely candidate," Chambers said.

"You mean you don't know?" Tony was incredulous.

"It's not as if we have anyone who can give us more specific information," Sparks responded hotly.

"It doesn't make sense, opium trafficking is watched by any number of intelligence agencies around the world, if Velasquez were dealing in opium you should be able to know for certain."

"It's not important," Chambers cut off Tony's immediate objection with a gesture. "That is not the most concerning part. FINCEN has informed us that the money that Velasquez is splitting with his suppliers is not leaving the country. All indications are that there is an Al-Qaida cell forming or operating in the country, but we can't find anyone to link to it."

Tony stared at Chambers. "So what you want me to do is go in to an organization run by a paranoid bastard, use them to find out who is in an Al-Qaida ring, find out what _they_ are planning, and stop them." Tony laughed bitterly, "Absolutely not. It's suicide"

"It's not suicide, Jose trusted you," Sparks said.

"It was almost thirteen years ago!" Tony interjected.

"Still, he trusted you. That makes you the best candidate to get the information that we need on the movements and operations of the cell, and it's not as if you'd have to bring the whole thing down singlehandedly-"

"No, and I'm not changing my answer."

Chambers sighed. "Agent DiNozzo, you don't really have a choice in the matter. The kind of money that this cell could have already amassed could buy enough nuclear material for a dirty bomb that could cripple a city the size of Richmond, and we have no idea what they are doing with those funds."

"You can't draft me to do this."

"Actually we can," Sparks said with an evil smirk, "and if you choose to be less than cooperative, you'll find that there are a number of other things we _can_ do."

"Look, I've been through-" Tony began before he was cut off by Sparks again.

"Not to you, of course, we need you. But your co-workers, now there's plenty we can do there. It's not as if the NSA is completely unaware of the hacking activities of Agent McGee, we _could_ send him to prison."

Tony blanched.

"We could also very easily end the career of Agent Gibbs for any number of reasons, call into question the citizenship or loyalties of Agent David-"

"Basically you are going to make the lives of anyone I care about miserable unless I cooperate," Tony hissed through clenched teeth, glaring at the oh so smug Agent Sparks.

"You see, you don't really have options. You are going to have to come with us."

Tony sighed and looked up at the ceiling as if it could provide him any answers. This was worse than bad, this was horrific. This made impending doom sound like a stroll through the park. And yet, he had to go. "Alright."

The three men then walked out of the coffee shop and to the car that the other agents had parked. Tony tried to think of what he was going to tell Gibbs, and how this would all play out with NCIS. He was so busy with these thoughts that he didn't notice Agent Sparks make a gesture out the window towards the dark northern corner of the coffee shop as the car sped off down the streets.

**A/N: I apologize profusely for the lateness of this post, but it really could not be helped. I would also like to thank each and every one of you who have reviewed, favorited or alerted this story, it makes my day to see that I have a readership. If you have reviewed and I have not been able to respond to you, please know that your words of praise and encouragement are much appreciated. **

**Next up: another reaction…**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Hey you know what! I had this really awesome dream, and in it I actually owned NCIS! I could make all of our favorite characters do my bidding, and broadcast it to millions. Amazing right? Then I woke up, and *sigh* no still not mine, then I realized, I can **_**still**_** make them do my bidding, I just have to return them to CBS in good condition. Easy.**

**A/N: So I'd like to tell you a little story, in a roundabout way it is the story of this chapter. You see, awhile back my sister wrote something for another fandom and asked me to look at it before she posted. My response was "It's really very good, but it could use a little padding out. Why don't you add more here?" Which she then did, and brought it to me again, to which I said "Could you add a little more here?" This went on a couple more times until she finally said "No" and posted it, to some very nice reviews. Flash forward to know, and here I have what has turned into my very first multi-chapter work, and I finally let her read it ('cause I am always unnecessarily nervous about her reaction to the things I write) and she says to me "It's good, I mean really good. Whose reaction is next?" My response: "Ziva, of course, then there are only a few chapters left" To which she says "You know you're going to need to do Ducky and Jimmy right? And preferably separately." And that was that, with one sentence she took my story that was already growing well past my intentions and made it even bigger, I think that she took some perverse pleasure in it, a little revenge for what I had done to her. So I set out to write this chapter, Jimmy, and I thought "it's easy right? I mean it's **_**Jimmy**_**." I have scrapped this chapter three times in order to try and get it both in character and relevant, but at last I think I have done it. So here you go sis, I present (a week late) your Jimmy chapter.**

**Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine and mine alone.**

Tony left the bullpen intent on finding Ziva. McGee had told him that she usually stopped to pick up coffee for everyone on Tuesdays, so he would likely find her at the coffee shop closest to the Navy Yard. That was good, now that he had talked with Tim, he really wanted to be able to talk to Ziva privately as well, and even though they would technically be in public at the coffee shop, it should still suffice. Anyway, it was better than waiting in the bullpen for her to show up, who knew what sort of office supplies she would threaten him with if he let her get to her desk.

He had just stopped in front of the elevator when the doors opened to reveal Jimmy Palmer, in a suit and tie no less, with a couple of files in his hands. Surprised, he took a small step back, he wasn't prepared to see Jimmy yet, hadn't worked out what he wanted to say to the man that had become a good friend back during that summer when everything and everyone else had been immeasurably frustrating. Of course, Jimmy was hardly prepared to see him either; in fact he was the very definition of the word stunned. His face had quickly been drained of any and all color; he rather looked like he'd seen a ghost. Well, he has, in his mind at least Tony thought.

Casting a glance at the files that Jimmy was still holding, he read upside down that they were from Ducky, probably autopsy and toxicology reports on whatever case that the team was currently working. Tony took them from Jimmy's slightly limp hands and flagged down a young intern walking nearby.

"Hey, get these reports to Agent McGee, would ya?"

The girl took them without a word or much of a glance, and Tony turned back to find the elevator doors almost closed. Quickly reaching a hand in to stop them from shutting completely he called out, "A little help here Jimmy?" even though it wasn't strictly necessary. Apparently, the younger man was still capable of both comprehension and movement in his astounded state, because the just a second later the elevator doors were open again, Jimmy was holding down the hold elevator door button, albeit with a force that was probably a tad overmuch for the poor button. Even when Tony was in the elevator Jimmy didn't give up on holding down the button. Seeing this, Tony took Palmer's wrist and moved his hand so that the doors would close.

"It's okay Jimmy, it's really me, and I am really alive." He tried to inject a comforting tone in his voice as he spoke to the ME assistant who strongly resembled a goldfish at that moment.

"Bu-but it's not possible! I mean, I was…there when… I-I went with Dr. Mallard… to collect…your…_the_… remains." Jimmy said haltingly his tone rife with incredulity.

Tony grimaced; of course they had all gone to where his "body" (or what was left of it) had been found. It wouldn't have been a pretty sight. The human body holds a lot of blood, and most of what they would have assumed was _his_ blood had drenched the ground out on that Virginia farm. All of his friends probably still had nightmares about that scene.

"It wasn't me." Tony said firmly, thinking dark thoughts about all that he wanted do to the person that thought up _that_ little display if he ever saw the man again. Damn that Sparks.

"But we re-did the DNA confirmation! It _was _you!"

"Jimmy, I'm not dead!" Tony grasped Jimmy by the shoulders shook him slightly to get his point across. "DNA records stored in any computer system can very easily be modified or out-and-out replaced by someone who knows what they are doing."

Emotions flickered across Jimmy's face as he stared at Tony. Shock was still there, but now there were flashes of relief, confusion, joy and anger. He was as easy to read as an open book, and Tony knew that he was trying to put it all together and process it, trying to make it all fit into a box with a neat little explanation, it didn't work.

"What happened, Tony?" he said with an odd mix of confusion, concern and weariness.

Tony dropped his arms and sighed as the elevator reached the main floor lobby, "Let's go for a walk and I'll try to explain." Jimmy followed as Tony exited the elevator and very soon after that, the building.

They walked side by side for awhile heading towards the park close by. Jimmy looked lost in thought for awhile, and Tony was content to say little at the moment as he thought about the best way to explain the past fourteen months. His thoughts were interrupted by Jimmy.

"I decided to become an ME, you know, instead of practice medicine."

That was a curve ball, not really sure what to say to that Tony responded, "That's a pretty big deal, I thought that you _really_ wanted to be a doctor."

"I did, and I am actually. I have my degree. But when you…" Jimmy was rather obviously struggling with his thoughts, his hands gesturing slightly to make the point his words wouldn't or couldn't. "It was always about helping people. I wanted to help people and I thought that being a really great doctor would mean that I'd help a lot of people." Jimmy paused, and then continued softly, "When you died, I had never lost someone close to me violently before. It made me realize…what I do, what Dr. Mallard does, it helps people, brings them justice, and justice…justice is _very_ important."

Tony regarded his young friend. He knew exactly what Jimmy was trying to express, that there is a measure of solace that a person gets from knowing that an unspeakable deed will not go unpunished. It doesn't change what happened, but it does help with grief to know that there is at least a small amount of rectitude in the universe. Tony could very easily imagine what the entire team went through in the search for his killer, and the dark pleasure they would have felt in arresting the man, coupled with the near-crippling finality of the whole thing. Tony sighed, did wasn't sure that he wanted to know the answer to his question, but he had to know what sort of damage that he'd done.

"So, now that it turns out that it wasn't me…do you regret your decision?"

"No, of course not," Jimmy answered quickly. "I mean, just because it wasn't you doesn't mean that it wasn't somebody and that somebody would deserve just as much justice as you" he said with confidence, and then a look of horror crossed his face "Oh my God! We put away an innocent man!"

Tony laughed bitterly, "Trust me the guy you got was supposed to take the fall for my murder and he was _far _from innocent."

"But-"

"And they probably wanted an informant in whatever prison he got sent to anyway. Two birds with one stone."

"So what happened?" Jimmy asked again.

"It was an undercover operation run by the NSA; they approached me after work that night I disappeared. They boxed me in, I had to go with them. Officially, they were less than sure that I could complete the mission, and they didn't want all of you guys on the hunt for me. My own thought is that they just wanted to screw with my life enough that I couldn't come back. Either way, the same night I agreed to this nightmare, they set up…well, they set up what you found."

They both lapsed into a contemplative silence for a few minutes. Jimmy had always been understanding and supportive of Tony, eager and willing to help in any way he could, and Tony wanted to push Jimmy into telling him whether or not they could move past this huge hurdle to their friendship, but he knew better than to do that at this moment. Even the most loyal could be pushed too far.

"So this mission…was it worth it?" Jimmy finally asked.

Tony hesitated. Was it worth it? He knew that Jimmy was really asking him if all of the grief and pain that they were put through for this mission had a purpose, and it killed Tony to know that it didn't. There had been no justifiable reason to fake his death and bring misery to those that he cared about. Just how was he supposed to explain that?

"None of you should have been put through what you went through, if could go back and change things I would make sure that you all knew what was going on, have the paperwork show that I went out as agent afloat again…or _something_. But I still would have gone. The objective…what happened… it turned out to be very important." Tony made sure that he had eye contact with Jimmy as he said, "People would have died if I hadn't gone and protecting people, that's why I became a cop in the first place."

Tony held the eye contact as Jimmy looked at him appraisingly for a little while, then there was a slight nod of his head, and a large sigh.

"Okay… okay, I think I get it."

Tony smiled and then turned back the way that they came. He'd be able to come out alright with Jimmy in the end.

"So Jimmy, other than making career altering decisions, what have you been up to since I've been gone? You marry Breena yet?"

Jimmy laughed, "Why does everyone ask me that? We're happy with things the way that they are!"

"Oh I don't know, maybe because it's because everyone knows that you to are good for each other, and I'm speaking in the personality department here. Physically, that girl is _way_ out of your league. Since for some unknown reason she's with you, you need to get a ring on her finger as soon as you can." Tony teased.

"Maybe I'll have to give it more consideration." Jimmy said lightheartedly, "Anyway, the person I'd pick for my best man has recently been resurrected."

This time it was Tony's turn to do an impression of a goldfish as Jimmy laughed. Soon after though, Tony joined him. "Anytime man, anytime," Tony said clapping the younger man on the back.

**A/N: So that's another one down, I hope you enjoyed it. Up next we head back to the night in question, maybe get some answers as to what the mysterious figure in the dark is going to do and maybe meet the hereto invisible Nate.**

**Another point I should make now is that this fic will not contain a Tiva pairing. If you are looking for it, I'm sorry but you won't find it here. Hopefully, the story itself will be enough to keep you reading in its absence. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Well here we are again at this disclaiming thing. I'm not really sure why I still do it, continuity, I guess. Anyway the very standard disclaimer follows: I don't own NCIS nor do I make any claims to that effect. Also, this little endeavor makes no money, not even a little bit, so there is no point in clogging up the legal system or alerting the IRS.**

**Unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. I'm really sorry if there are spelling/grammar mistakes, and also, this one got a little long on me.**

A man leaves the shadows of a coffee shop on foot. The streetlight just barely catches the proper angle and creates the briefest little glint off of a knife blade as it is closed back into the handle. The man walks with purpose across the street and down another. It is a direct route, no variations to confuse the onlooker, just a single minded track to a specific destination. That destination turns out to be a six story apartment building. The man checks for security cameras monitoring the entrance and changes his course based on what he sees.

Around to the side of the building now, the man pushes a dumpster under the fire escape and climbs on top of it to get to the bottom rung of that staircase. He quickly runs up the stairs to the fourth floor, and looks in a window. The view is of a hallway and the man smiles; he takes a roll of duct tape from the pocket of his cargo pants and proceeds to cover the whole window. He then takes a screwdriver and presses into the middle of the window. All that is heard is a medium sized crack and the window is broken. Most of the glass sticks to the tape, but some does not. However it is safety glass, meant to shatter easily in an emergency, so the little pieces that fall to the floor inside are of little consequence. The tape is removed and the man vaults through the open space.

Quickly walking down the hall the man stops at the door for apartment 413A. There are three locks on the door; one would have needed to be installed by the tenant. The man sets to work breaking all the locks, while occasionally looking about for anyone who might be observing him. It takes twenty minutes to gain access to the apartment. Apparently_ all_ of the locks were installed by the tenant. The man walks into the apartment and observes the backpack under the small hall table, the phone resting with other inconsequential items on the surface. He walks through the tidy (if a little dusty) apartment, going into each room to verify that he is alone. Standing in the middle of the living area he pulls out his own phone and dials a set of numbers. "Kevin, it's clear. Come on up. Time to get to work." Looking about the room again, seeing the pictures on the wall, the large TV, the literal stacks upon stacks of movies, the strangely _not _out of place bookcase, the man smiles again, but with a look in his eyes like ice.

*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*

Tony's thoughts swirled around as he was sitting in the back of that government issue sedan. Constantly shifting, flitting here and there. One moment he was thinking about just how big of a head slap that he was going to get from Gibbs for even thinking about agreeing with this mission, next moment he was trying to remember exactly how things were with Jose when he made is exit from that op. Then he moved to just how he was going to explain to Gibbs why he had to go, next and if there was any possible way that he could just appear out of nowhere after thirteen years and have Jose trust him again. Abby's concert popped up in his mind, somehow he'd need to make sure that McGee went with her instead…It was as if his mind couldn't quite catch on to anything long enough to think it through completely.

Caught in these never-ending bits of thought processes he absently noted the streets that they were currently speeding down, Phlegyas didn't make better time to the gates of the city of Dis. Tony chuckled bitterly at that thought, of course he would be thinking about things like that _now_, after all these years. His gut, his cop instincts, his subconscious, everything was screaming at him that this was bad; bad right now, and in the future it would be very bad. He might as well make the leap and say that he was certainly entering the lower part of hell, whether he was all but dead and would never return from it or if there was a staircase waiting for him to climb out after he had traversed its depths was still to be seen.

Agent Chambers turned off the street and parked the sedan in the underground garage of a building that looked a little too nondescript. It could have been anything from an accountant firm to a temp agency, to a call center, so obviously it was a field office for the NSA. As they got out of the car and started towards the stairs that would take them to the main floor of the building Tony went into what he termed "Super Observer Mode," SOM for short. It was something that he had started doing way back, well before he even decided to enter the police academy, in it he tried to notice every detail he could, however inconsequential it was, apply a filter of context, and either act on it immediately or file the information away for use later. Sure, sometimes he was wrong in the interpretation of these details, but after all of his training and many years experience, he was right a hell of a lot more often than he was wrong.

What he was observing right now was the office space; first off, he couldn't see the front entrance that they had driven by to get to the garage, so there had to be a dummy corporation set up out front. As they were walking down the hallway it also looked as if each agent had their own office, and if the floors above were set out similarly, then that would mean that there were a possible fifteen to twenty agents in this office. Well that was a little unusual, despite all that they were charged with doing, NSA field offices tended to be small in an effort to try to blend in. Tony noted that this floor was very busy despite the time of night, and everyone that he passed was looking intently at several screens in front of them, talking on phones, and typing furiously. This must be the night shift of information monitors, so make that twenty to twenty-five agents in this office. Maybe this place was a little more than your standard field office.

As the trio made their way up a couple more flights of stairs (hadn't they heard of elevators here?) Tony noted that Lefty was making sporadic comments as they walked on, but the SOM had an excellent filter for idle chatter and therefore tuned him out. However he soon became aware that Agent Chambers was expecting him to respond to these incredibly useful tidbits of information about the weather, the moon phases or whatever he was really talking about. Tony gave him a glare that would have done Gibbs proud, easily conveying the message that after being shanghaied into a veritable suicide mission, small talk was a little out of the question at the moment. They walked towards a lit conference room on an otherwise dark floor of the building. This must be the base for field agents, Tony mused. Apparently, this little assignment was the only thing important going on tonight.

Walking in the conference room he could see it was set up as any good situation room would be. There were maps, pictures of the major players in the Velasquez organization, reports on their movements, financial records, statements, phone records, a whiteboard full of theories, hell even his old case notes and all of the old files. It was a lot of information but after the SOM finished filtering, he knew exactly why they had come after him. Sure, it _was_ a lot of information, but in the end it amounted to absolutely nothing. But that didn't mean he would give them a free pass, he could still pull off sullen.

"Well, it looks as if you've got pretty much all you could ask for already," he said as he lightly picked through the stacks of papers on the table.

Agent Sparks glowered at him. "Almost nothing here has any real significance and you know it."

"So it's here for window dressing? Or a little light hearted reading?"

Tony's biting sarcastic tone caused Agent Chambers to sigh, "Look, you've already agreed to cooperate-"

"You mean I've already been coerced into cooperation." Tony interjected hotly.

"Semantics," Chambers supplied waving a hand as he took a seat at the large table. "Arguing now is fruitless; let's just get down to business."

Tony took his seat but wasn't quite done making things difficult yet. Changing his tone to be neutral tending to slightly mocking, "Look, it was really nice of you guys to pick me up and all, but I haven't eaten yet and quite frankly I doubt the service or food in this place really any good so could you order a pizza? Really I'm starving, and I can't think so well on an empty stomach."

Agent sparks glared at him as he sat down in a chair across from Tony and reached into a drawer of the credenza behind him. A candy bar came flying at Tony, which he caught easily. Tony scowled at the candy bar but decided to eat it anyway; apparently pizza was going to be out of the question.

Tony slightly turned to Chambers as he said around the improvised dinner he was chewing on, "See what I mean, the service sucks, and the selection is awful. I think I'd like to lodge a formal complaint, maybe talk to his supervisor."

Chambers rolled his eyes, "Alright, alright, that's enough now. It's time to cut the crap and talk shop. We've been through this information," Chambers gestured to the stacks of paper on the table, "about a dozen times in the past week. As I said earlier, yours was the only undercover operation that managed to succeed, but I can't for the life of me figure out why."

Tony smiled, "I'm just that charming."

"Agent DiNozzo-"

"No, I'm serious. The old man liked me, said I had balls. 'Course he would think that, considering I went to see him in prison and told him his whole operation was seriously screwed up."

"That doesn't get us to how you got Jose to trust you"

Tony shrugged, "Once you're in with Marin, you're in." Both agents were giving him blank looks. "Okay, let's try it this way. My cover, Anthony Bateman, was a businessman, looking for an opportunity to turn big profits, anyway possible. It was a big play, showing up to the prison and telling Martin that his method of running his organization from a prison cell was causing him to lose money and that he needed to hire me to fix things, but it worked. He took some convincing, and of course you really can't say what you mean to say with the guards standing right there, but one of the things I'm really good at is talking. By the end of the meeting, he believed me and got word to his men to take me in."

"So, if Martin thought you were worth it, Jose just gave you the benefit of the doubt?"

"Oh hell no, you have to prove yourself to Jose, but because his old man liked me he couldn't kill me right off." Tony paused, a little frustrated, "Look, this whole operation took eight months. For the first several I had to do what I told Martin I could do, make the organization money. I was the freakin' CFO for the organization, all business sense and polished country club manners. It wasn't until we were in a street war and I proved that I could get down and dirty if I had to, that Jose began to trust me. Once I had his trust, I started getting the information that would have put them away, and shut the whole thing down."

"And when the FBI pulled you they cooked up some charges and arrested you." Chambers said looking at a set of notes.

"Yep, fraud and embezzlement in California. I think I got five years"

Out in the darkened hallway came some rather large thumps and crashes. All three men in the room stood and looked towards the door. Tony was surprised to hear some rather loud cursing coming from whoever was walking toward them, and was confused by the look that Chambers shot to Sparks. He was just about to ask what was going on when the man owned the voice to those curses stalked through the door.

"You swore to me, that you'd let me talk to him Chambers!"

"We needed to get him going right away, Calvert. You weren't supposed to be back for another two weeks!" Chambers defended himself.

Tony could barely believe his eyes. My God it had to have been sixteen years since that rainy night in Peoria that they had been thrown together, but here in the flesh was Nate Calvert. His clothes were rumpled, he looked like he hadn't slept in a week, and he was seriously pissed. "You were going to send him in alone! Are you crazy?" Nate continued.

"We would have got you in as soon as you came back-"

"Wait, wait. Nate's coming with me?" Tony interjected, brightening slightly.

"Yeah, I'm going with you. You'll need the backup. I'm sorry, Tony. I was the one that was supposed to approach you about this, and handle…" A look of disgust and rage crossed Nate's face. He whirled on Chambers "Tell me you didn't let him handle it!" he said pointing at the still rather calm Sparks.

Chambers didn't say anything.

"Oh hell…shit, shit…oh _fuck!_" Nate turned to Sparks, "Call it off, damn it. Call it off now!"

"I can't, it's already been done. Anthony D. DiNozzo Jr. is officially a dead man." Sparks said with a satisfied sneer as he showed Nate a message from his phone.

Tony's stomach practically dropped to the floor. "What you mean I'm dead?

**A/N: Well folks, we're at the half way point for this story now. I really want to say a **_**big**_** thank you to everyone who reviewed, and favorited or read this story so far. It makes me really really happy. **

**Up Next: Ziva's reaction. Still no Tiva, but I hope you'll like that scene anyway.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: Okay, so I don't own anything. Really that is a good thing. Sure, I don't make any money from this, and yeah, I don't get to tell them what to do, but really can you imagine the **_**stress? **_**I don't even want to go there…**

**A/N: So I'm going to say this right up front 'cause you deserve it, THANK-YOU for all of your reviews and alerts! It's lovely, it makes me grin like an idiot every time (and let me tell you **_**that's**_** hard to explain sometimes). I've tried to respond to every review, so if I missed you send me a Gibbs-style head slap!**

Tony and Jimmy parted ways just before the building's entrance. Tony was hoping that if he hurried, he might still be able to catch Ziva at the coffee shop. The little building that was frequented by most employees of the Navy Yard wasn't a very long walk, so he soon found himself walking through the very familiar door. It was odd, being here, it had been so long and Tony felt a little out of place. The little things that made up a part of his routine before that fateful evening he was looking at now with refreshed eyes. The walls had gotten a fresh coat of paint; at least he didn't remember them being green. There were new chairs and tables in the seating area, and he didn't recognize anyone working the counter this busy morning.

The line was long, even by morning rush standards, but Tony quickly spotted Ziva, it wasn't hard, she was the one arguing with the clerk. Her hands currently waving the card she was probably trying to pay with about menacingly. He took in the small gulp and wide eyes of the skinny college kid that was trying to help her and he smiled slightly. Some things would probably never change no matter how many years she spent in America, and Ziva had spent too many years as a Mossad officer to have much patience with incompetence. If this had been fourteen months ago he would have come to the poor kid's rescue at this precise time, but as it was, he knew he was better off observing than acting.

He took up a position that allowed him a better angle to study his partner. The din caused by the excess amount of people speaking on phones and to each other made it impossible for Tony to hear what the argument with the clerk was about but he was able to read her lips as she said that she could not understand the problem and made another slashing motion with her debit card. Still won't use contractions, Tony thought, something else that hadn't changed. But looking at her he could see that there were things that had. Her hair was no longer straightened within an inch of its life, but instead had its natural curly state slightly enhanced. She was still wearing more makeup than she had when he first met her, but it fit in and accentuated her natural beauty. Her posture, although right now very aggressive, he could tell was more confident than he had seen it since her return from that desert hellhole in Africa.

The most drastic change though was barely visible from this distance, and he could only catch it because he'd been told by McGee earlier. A delicate ring set on her left hand. Ziva was married. His partner, the crazy Mossad ninja chick, the woman that took "bat naps" and carried a few more knives than strictly necessary, who drove like she was in a war zone, had settled down and gotten married. Tony chuckled at that thought. Married yes, he could accept that, and it had happened. But settled down? No, absolutely not, it wasn't Ziva's style. Still, the marriage itself represented a fundamental shift in philosophy for the former Probette.

The Ziva he knew was very much a "duty comes first" type of person; duty to her country, to her father, to the job. It more often than not took a toll her both physically and mentally, and some of those consequences were devastating. He'd never forget the night after the first rape-murder case they'd worked after she came back from Somalia. He'd gone over to her place rather absentmindedly just to check on her and found a wreck of a woman trapped into reliving the terrors that she'd endured at the hands of her captors because she hadn't allowed that she needed distance from that case. Tony had spent the entire night talking her through the pain of the memories, and when at last they came to the first light of dawn he told her that she needed to talk consistently to a therapist, and that she needed to be honest with them about the things that were too much for her to handle. That damn sense of duty had come through and she hadn't been willing to put herself first when it came to cases back then, but she had at least made regular appointments with a therapist.

Now though, now she was married. To come to that she would have had to reconcile her natural sense of duty with the desire to be happy in her personal life, and make the decision that both she and her feelings should come before all the other supposedly "higher" uses for her life that she had been taught to accept. Tony was immensely proud of her for making that decision and taking that leap, although he didn't quite understand what could have driven her to it.

Whatever the issue was with the clerk appeared to have been resolved by now and Ziva was moving to pick up her order from the other end of the counter. Tony sighed, if he wanted to talk to her here in the coffee shop, around witnesses, it was now or never. So he moved, threading through the people ostensibly standing in line to intercept her before she could make her way to the door. He reached her just as she was turning around; she hadn't even had the opportunity to see him before he reached out for the tray of coffee in her hands and said "Here, let me take that." It was a good thing that Tony already had his hands on the tray when he spoke, if he didn't there would be coffee all over the floor by now, for upon hearing his voice Ziva's hands went completely limp and her eyes went wide in shock.

"Hello Ziva," Tony's nervousness crept through his voice.

"Tony," Ziva whispered as her eyes instantly brimmed with tears.

"Ziva, why don't -" he was going to suggest that they sit down when she stepped up close to him, placing her hand on either sides of his face as to reassure herself that he wasn't a figment of her imagination.

"It is good to see you," she said as the tears streamed down her face. She moved even closer and rested her forehead gently on his shoulder, saying softly into his shirt "If I was not so relieved to see you in one piece, I would kill you with a swivel straw."

Tony couldn't help but laugh, causing Ziva to bring her head up again, "Swizzle," he corrected, but a look of confusion crossed her face so he continued, "It's swizzle straw, Ziva, not swivel," he smiled down at her.

"But that does not make sense," she said as she dropped her hands and backed up fractionally.

"Does swivel?"

"No, it does not, but-"

"I think we're getting a little lost in minutiae," Tony placed the hand that was not holding the coffee on her back and steered her towards the seating area, "Let's sit down and talk."

They took two chairs around a small table in the corner, and Tony began to inspect the coffee cups, selecting one, he opened the lid and added a large amount of sugar as Ziva watched.

"That is McGee's latte."

Tony shrugged, "I'll buy him another one before we leave." He looked intently at her face trying to read her emotions. Her tears had stopped falling but her eyes were still wet and one of the main emotions he could find there was wonderment, which certainly was not what he expected.

"It's alright to be angry with me you know, I've been in your place, I get it."

"And I have been in your place as well. I know you almost as well as you know me and I do not believe that you _wanted_…" she looked a little lost for words for a moment, "it would have to be something large to make you leave. Why did you leave us, Tony?"

Somehow, her understanding and that simple question hurt worse than her anger would have. He sighed, looking down at his purloined coffee, "It was an undercover NSA operation." He heard her small but sharp intake of breath, and looked in her eyes. "I would never have let you believe that I died if I had had the choice, you _have_ to know that. It wasn't my idea."

"It is not…I did not mean…Tony more than a year undercover, it must have been dangerous. I do not blame you, I was merely concerned."

"My, you are certainly full of surprises. I didn't expect-"

"I understand duty, Tony. I was-"

"I know. I know what you were. And I am extremely happy that you've made a decision to put that life completely in the past." He said with a gesture to her left hand, and she blushed but couldn't hold back a radiant smile. "How long?"

"Five months. He makes me happy."

"He better," Tony said with a grin, "I'll kill him if he doesn't, then Gibbs will resurrect him and kill him again, only slower."

Ziva laughed. "You will have to get in line then, McGee said the same thing."

Her gaze moved off into space, and Tony waited letting her contemplate whatever she wanted to say to him. He still felt as if he deserved more reproach than he was getting from anyone he had talked to yet, and he resolved to apologize properly after she had said her piece, rule six could go to hell in this instance.

"When I came back from Africa," she started but paused, his breath almost stopped. "All my life, really, I have been searching for something permanent. Something I could hold onto that would never change, and could never be lost. When the DNA match came back, and we _knew_…that you were gone…it still felt impossible. Eventually, I came to the realization that nothing is permanent. Everything is frail, can die, can be taken away." She looked up at him for understanding.

"That's depressing," Tony couldn't help but comment.

"No, no it is not. Well, yes it is, but that is not what I meant entirely. You see, because everything can be taken away, you have to enjoy it as much as you can while you have it." The conviction behind her words shocked him, and she must have read the look because she continued, "My life is just as fragile as yours, and you were gone, so…" She trailed off with a slightly exasperated sigh.

"So, you decided to let yourself live in the moment, love, and be happy."

"Exactly."

Tony was stunned. He couldn't believe that _his _death was the cause of such a profound change in her personal philosophy. It was almost too much. "You're really not mad at me?"

"You were successful, yes?"

"Yeah."

"Then I am just happy to have you back. You are back, yes?" Ziva's tone turned worried with that question.

Tony rubbed at his eyes, "There are still specifics to work out, but yeah, yeah I'm back."

"Good. You should get McGee another coffee and we should head back."

He smiled and stood up, "Good idea."

**A/N: Well, that's Ziva, and I'll admit, I'm slightly scared at what all of you are going to think. Up next we go backwards in time again and ironically meet up with Gibbs… Until then!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own lots of things, probably too many things. I should get rid of some things. One thing I don't own, nor any of the rights thereof, is NCIS.**

**A/N: Okay, so there was no way around this, I have to switch POV in the middle of this chapter. So, after a fairly obvious line break we'll see some things from Gibbs's side. I tried to avoid it, tried to find a way around it, but it was the only way to accomplish what I wanted to do with this story. It's also a really long chapter because Tony wanted significant air time as well.**

Tony paced the length of the conference room, back and forth, back and forth. He'd reach one end of the room, do a quick turn on a heel, take the eleven measured steps that was the length of the conference room forward, do another quick turn on the other heal, take eleven steps in the other direction, find no space to continue, another quick turn on a heel, repeat. Each deliberate and measured step was a renewed battle in a war, each turn a defeat. The war was for control, and Tony was losing.

He had flown _way _beyond pissed when that damned coldhearted bastard oh-so calmly explained what he'd done. Tony couldn't even begin to describe what he was feeling. Rage, rage would be a start, but it didn't go far enough. He wanted to rip and tear things apart with his bare hands, break things into itty bitty little pieces, disembowel things and watch those things bleed to death slowly, in agony. Agents Sparks and Chambers weren't people, they were vicious, ruthless animals, and he would like nothing better than to see them die at this moment.

He'd already agreed to cooperate, well, been blackmailed into it. This was unnecessary, it was unaccountably cruel. They were the friggin' NSA for God's sake! They could just call up Director Vance and say 'We're going to be needing an agent of yours for awhile; may or may not return him, you know how these things are.' It's wasn't as if Vance would have said no, actually he probably would have said 'Hell yes, take him!' If they'd allowed Tony to talk to Gibbs, he would have convinced the senior agent that this operation was necessary and that would have made sure the team didn't interfere. Tony didn't know what he would have said to get Gibbs to agree, but it didn't matter now, that option was closed to him.

If there were a possible silver lining to this whole turn of events it would be that Nate was soundly behind him. When that snake Sparks had described exactly what the team would find of Tony's 'body', Tony's first instinct had been to lunge over the table strangle Sparks with his bare hands and hope that he'd see the damn bastard's eyes pop out (he knew it wasn't physically possible, but it _would_ have been satisfying), but Nate had beaten him to the man and backed him into a wall, colorfully ripping him a new one before announcing that he was going to take this to their director before stalking out of the room. The two other NSA agents had squawked loudly in protest and quickly followed, leaving Tony alone in the room, battling to wrestle the animal that was his murderous rage back into that dark place in his soul where he chained such feelings.

He was on step five of eleven when Nate came back into the room. The moment Nate met his eyes Tony knew, he read easily in those eyes the defeat, anger and regret. Nate sat heavily in one of the chairs and sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face, "I'm sorry, Tony. I tried… but since it's all said and done, Director Evans sided with Sparks. His official pronouncement being, if you're dead no one will come looking for you."

Tony seethed. The chain was _so_ close to snapping, making his voice bitter, brittle, and thick with sarcasm, "This is a lovely agency that you work for, Nate. Is there some sort of class that all you spooks go through that teaches you how best to screw with people's lives?"

Nate shot him a wounded look, and then grimaced, "Tony-"

"No, I'm serious, Nate. You all think you're so f-"

"Tony," Nate interrupted forcefully, "I get it, I really do, you're pissed off. Hell, I'm pissed too!"

"You're pissed? It's my life that this goddamn agency is screwing with! My life!" Tony bellowed. "Jesus Christ, Nate!" He said dropping heavily into a chair.

"We'll get it back, I promise, once this mission is over, we'll get it back," Nate tried to reassure.

Tony laughed humorlessly, "That's all that matters, this precious mission. It's not enough that it might actually kill me, your NSA cohorts have to go and make sure that everyone I care about thinks I'm dead so that…why exactly? Oh right, so that they can't _interfere_. Newsflash! I'm not buying it! This was just…just completely unnecessary. So what is it? Did I do something? Or royally piss somebody off?"

Nate sighed, "I don't think this is like that, I don't think this is even about you," Tony scoffed, but Nate continued, "I think Sparks is using you to get back at me for injecting myself in this operation. He's been in charge of the groundwork with this Velasquez situation since we got the intel, and well…he didn't exactly _like_ the idea of my being here. We get on about as well as oil and water, and he knows that you and I have a history."

Tony chose not to comment on that. He still wasn't sure, this whole damn situation felt like it was a little more like payback than desperation on the NSA's part, and he knew a little bit about revenge plots. Maybe they were simply screwing with him because they could. Regardless, the why really didn't matter anymore because apparently what was done was done and the only way to get his life back was to bring down an entire mob organization and a terrorist cell and still be alive at the end of it.

"How long is this mission supposed to take anyway?" Tony asked, finally being able to think past the fact that he apparently died today.

Nate chewed on the corner of his lip slightly "They have it slotted for eight months-"

"Eight months!"

"But it will likely take longer." Nate said ignoring Tony's outburst.

"So, what? A year?"

"At least, possibly as long as eighteen months."

"More than a year, I'm going to be officially dead for more than a whole year," Tony shook his head and then ran a hand through his hair, nervousness and a little guilt cropping up from somewhere, "I can't do it, Nate. I can't. The team is going to go to that scene, _nothing _will keep them away. And I've seen some pretty gruesome sights in my career, but that…they're going to think _I_ was…no, it's too much, I can't let it stand like this, I can't," Tony said firmly. "I need to let them know it's not me."

Nate sighed, "I can't let you do that Tony, the Director-"

"I don't give a damn what your Director said, Nate!"

"Tony, would you let me finish a sentence?" Nate yelled in frustration. He took a deep breath and continued a little more calmly, "Look, Sparks is a live wire, his methods are unorthodox but they usually get results, and he usually gets reprimands. The Director actually sided with him on this one, so he's going to think that he has the full weight of the NSA behind him and if he thinks you've compromised this part of his plan…Tony, I don't think I'm enough to stop him from taking drastic measures to get his plan back on track."

Tony blanched at that, not wanting to know about what other drastic measures the man was capable of, but then turned thoughtful. "What if it was just one person? Just let me make one phone call, I know I can convince him to keep quiet."

Nate sighed, "You're movements and actions are going to be monitored till we leave, and I'd bet my life that you're team will also be monitored carefully. You couldn't call anyone without getting caught."

"You could hand deliver a letter."

"Tony," Nate pleaded.

"I'm not going to give this up, Nate! And you owe me."

"I'd be risking my career!" Nate hissed.

"You wouldn't _have_ a career if it wasn't for me. Hell, you'd probably be dead! You owe me this."

Nate dropped his head to his hands, and was quiet for a few moments, before drawing his head back up, decision made. "Fine. Who am I taking this damned letter to?"

"Gibbs"

***~NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~ NCIS~*~NCIS~*~NCIS~*~NCIS~*~NCIS~*~NCIS~*~NCIS~*~NCIS~***

This was a nightmare.

Or Hell.

At the moment, Gibbs couldn't tell which, and didn't care anyway. It wasn't like he was going to be able to escape either.

He was sitting in his basement, holding a jar of bourbon, the bottle within easy reach, and he was trying not to think about the past five days. He couldn't… he didn't want to. Thinking would mean he'd have to deal with reality. That would be unacceptable, because in reality, his senior field agent, Anthony D. DiNozzo, was dead. Not just dead, but brutally murdered.

Earlier, he had tried to lose himself in his woodwork, but peace had eluded him. He couldn't find any satisfaction in the simple movements of sanding, sawing, planing and shaping the wood to his design. He couldn't help it when his mind would wander to the one of the many nights where he wasn't alone down here, nights where someone was making comments from a corner, picking up and fiddling with one or another of his tools that were scattered about the room, nights where that person was smiling and laughing, vibrating with energy and life. Nights that would never happen again because Tony was dead. Then he would think about snippets of the past five days. The past five days that he desperately wanted to deny had happened. So, abandoning the only just barely started project, he sat down with his liquor.

Now, he was a couple jars in and still valiantly trying to keep the memories at bay, trying to take refuge in numbness, but really it was like trying to defy gravity, impossible. Damn that Newton bastard. The memoires would not be denied; they came unbidden, the full force of the awful, horrible events of the past five days. Relived in terrifying clarity, the scenes and emotions so strong it was as if he were actually experiencing it all again.

It had started Wednesday; his agent had not shown up to work on time. DiNozzo would often show up to work just in time to not be late, show up a little bit late and still a little damp signaling the death of another alarm clock, or he'd show up about twenty minutes late carrying coffee for the entire team. That was all normal. He was _never_ an hour late without calling in, telling someone (sometimes he'd text McGee instead of calling Gibbs) that he would be late and the reason why (if he texted McGee, that reason may or may not be completely accurate.) Gibbs had felt dread weigh down his stomach as he called Tony's landline and yelled at his answering machine. It sunk further when he did the same for the younger man's cell phone.

Officially worried at that point, and pissed as hell about it, Gibbs told Ziva to check on DiNozzo's apartment and drag his ass into work unless he was dying, while he went down to Abby to see if she knew of any plans that his agent had had the previous evening, leaving McGee to trace Tony's cell phone. Abby was midway through a ramble that included Bert, death monkeys (or something like that), and the pertinent fact that Tony'd expressed a desire to actually sleep last night when Gibbs got Ziva's call. Ziva's voice had sounded professionally detached when he'd answered, but all she could manage to say was that DiNozzo's apartment was a crime scene.

Not knowing what he was dealing with and giving Ziva no time to explain, Gibbs had ordered her to secure the scene and call for a couple of Metro officers to get a perimeter for the whole floor, the whole damn building if she thought it was necessary, and wait until he got there to process anything. He'd left Abby's lab by the time he'd hung up the phone, knowing she was probably confused and worrying, but he knew he didn't have the time it would take to reassure her. He double timed it up the stairs to fetch McGee. Reaching the bullpen, he'd told McGee to gear up and gas up the truck as he called Vance to tell him that DiNozzo was missing. McGee had left only a vapor trail when Gibbs looked up from that phone call and he quickly followed the junior agent.

By the time that Gibbs came to a screeching halt outside Tony's apartment building, he saw that the whole thing had been tapped off with yellow crime scene tape and there were at least five uniforms talking to the myriad of people that had been asked leave their apartments while the extent of the actual crime scene was being determined. Gibbs and McGee had moved quickly to through the tape, simply waving badges at the officer that asked, to the floor that his agent's apartment was on, finding Ziva waiting patiently in the hallway next to the open door.

Gibbs had looked through that doorway, silently praying that he wouldn't find blood, and saw the destruction. DiNozzo's apartment had been trashed. It was an absolute wreck. He'd silently conveyed to two other members of his team to get to work and received two nods in return as they set about the necessary tasks without direction. Gibbs looked through the mess, trying to get a feel for what had happened. It looked as if there had been a struggle, there were some pieces of furniture that were broken, some pictures and DVDs scattered and broken on the floor. The main confrontation had to have taken place in the living room because the rest of the apartment just looked as if it had been methodically searched.

Fortunately, no one found any amount of blood, which meant that his agent was alive when he was taken from his apartment. Gibbs had felt a little bit of relief at that. He knew that DiNozzo was a fighter. Wherever he was, he was making life for his captors hell, he'd be alive when Gibbs found him, Gibbs had been sure of it. He hated being wrong.

They processed the apartment in relative silence, only making slight observations at the state of some things, and the items that were obviously not what Tony's attacker was looking for. They found that the two of the locks on the door had been picked and the third simply forced, giving rise to the theory that DiNozzo had not been home when the assailant had broken in, so was this a botched B & E? They found and processed the obvious point of entry into the building and grabbed the security tapes for the building before they left for the Navy Yard to begin the search for Tony in earnest.

Back in the bullpen, steely determination was driving all of them to work quickly to find their absent team member, none of them had allowed themselves to think the worst, to feel worry, it was all shoved aside to do the job. With Abby processing the physical evidence, Ziva looking through and sorting the first set of witness statements, Gibbs and McGee watched the grainy security tape footage. They watched as DiNozzo entered, obviously just arrived from work, and head straight for the stairs, bypassing the broken elevator. They watched as he re-entered the screen, dressed to go running, and later when he came back into the building talking on his phone, pausing slightly before double timing it up the stairs. It was the last scene with him that was the worst, Gibbs and McGee watched as Tony was half dragged by a burly man a little shorter than his six foot two frame, but outweighing him by twenty pounds, out of the building and disappear into the night.

Tony's uncoordinated movements and only slightly effective struggles suggested that he'd been drugged back in the apartment. To the world that whole scene would look like a buddy helping his drunken friend to a cab, nothing to raise any alarm, nothing to cause anyone to remember specifics about the man in the camera footage. Black and white footage that was too grainy to run any facial recognition on. Other than seeing what happened, it was a dead end. They'd reached a lot of those by the end of that first day.

Thursday dawned with Gibbs and his team still at their desks. Gibbs drinking coffee, watching as Tim and Ziva caught a few moments rest. Gibbs had been beyond worried, more akin to fully terrified by this point, there had never been a time where they'd lost DiNozzo this long without any direction to go, even when the man had been chained to a serial killer he'd left a clear and distinct trail, this time there was nothing. Hope was returned a little later in the morning in the form of a fingerprint match from Abby that had all of them digging into the life and times of one Cade Walters, arrested when Tony was working in Baltimore, and recently paroled. They had BOLOs out on him and his known vehicles, and were working through piecing together his movements for the past week when the phone call came in.

Gibbs didn't remember much of that phone call. He should, it was the worst phone call he can ever remember receiving (even the news that his wife and daughter had been killed hadn't come as a phone call), but he couldn't process much of what the unknown detective had said beyond the words "remains," "positive identification," and "Agent Anthony DiNozzo." He must have got a location from the man, because they had soon been speeding to a farm in Virginia that hadn't even been on their radar yet, but he didn't remember it.

Once at the picturesque farm, Gibbs had returned to awareness of his surroundings. He saw the one uniformed officer protecting the scene, and noticed that he resolutely looked away from the area that was tapped off. The detective that made the accursed phone call found them and told them that he and his men had been called to the farm the evening previous, and had processed through the night, when they got a quick CODIS match on the blood sample that they'd sent back to their lab that morning. When it had come up as an NCIS agent, they'd shut everything down, making sure to leave things where they stood, and made the call. The detective lead all five of them (Ducky and Palmer arriving with the ME van just minutes after Gibbs), toward the place where his agent had to all current appearances died, but the man stopped up short, looking apprehensive. The man looked Gibbs in the eyes and told him it was the worst scene that he'd ever worked, before continuing down the small slope behind the house to a shed.

Gibbs had thought he could remain stoic; after all, he'd processed the scene of his agent's blown up and burnt out car thinking that the body in the front seat was DiNozzo. Then he had come up to the back of the shed and saw the blood stained field, and the single, solitary, spattered piece of equipment that stood there.

A fucking wood chipper.

Jesus Christ.

He'd stopped only a couple of feet from it, and he almost stopped breathing. He saw the blood backsplash in front of the feed hopper, the thick viscous slurry of bone, flesh and blood that still pooled in the blade housing and the same types of bits and pieces that had been thrown from the chute into the field before them. He took in all the gory details before his brain could catch up to itself and realize that they were telling him that this was _Tony_. Then Gibbs had wanted to run, to leave this god-forsaken farm and never look back. He'd wanted to take a hot poker to his brain to try and burn out the place where the memories of these images were stored, but he knew nothing would work. He'd see this in his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Gibbs closed his eyes and turned around abruptly, but was unable to walk away. He had reminded himself that there was a possibility it wasn't DiNozzo, CODIS matches weren't always perfect. They had his DNA profile on record, and Gibbs wouldn't believe it was Tony until _his_ lab verified it. He opened his eyes to be faced with the sight of a lost, devastated looking Ziva, with tears silently streaming down face, and a horrified, shell-shocked looking McGee. When he met McGee's gaze, the younger man's eyes pleading for him to say that this wasn't real, he told McGee to call Abby and tell her call in her back-up and go home. Whatever the outcome of the DNA testing, he had known that Abby shouldn't see anything from this scene.

McGee had complied quickly, then Gibbs turned his attention to Ziva, when she tore her eyes away from the horror, he managed to silently convey to her that they needed to get this over as quickly as possible, and she nodded and moved forward, to do her job. Gibbs had sighed and looked around, noticing the retreating form of Palmer, heading back to the van for something, or to simply distance himself from what could be all that was left of a good friend. Then he looked at Ducky, and seeing the anguished grief and tentative acceptance of this loss that was written clearly across the face of the older man almost broke him, but he forced those feelings from his mind.

Denial is a powerful thing; clinging to it, they finished processing everything and saw to the transfer of evidence from both the scene and the PD to NCIS in a matter of a few hours. The ride back to the yard had been completely silent, their fears being unvoiced. Once back they tracked down leads in an equally noiseless and brutally efficient environment, each taking different directions to locate Cade Walters and create a case against him. When Gibbs got up a few hours later intent on going to the lab for the results of the DNA testing, both of his other agents had followed him, tense and nervous.

They walked into the lab and instead of the normal brain shattering music, the only sound that greeted them was that of the heart wrenching sobs wracking Abby's body and a small beeping noise that emanated from one of her computers, the screen showing the results Gibbs had been praying against, a DNA match on the blood from the wood chipper to that of Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr. His face was on the screen and the blinking words "positive match" were slightly mesmerizing in their hideousness, and he wasn't sure how long he stood there staring.

McGee had moved to comfort Abby, Gibbs had only been fooling himself when he thought that she would abandon her post with Tony unaccounted for, but it was having little effect. He had looked at what remained of his team, read their grief, and abject devastation much like Ducky's before, but couldn't feel it. It was as if his heart had iced over, he could only think of one thing. He ground out an order to them to find him the man responsible for this unspeakable event and stormed out of the lab.

After about thirty hours, they did. Cade Walters had been taken into custody and there was enough of a case against him for them to formally charge him before he even had a chance to speak. It wasn't enough; Gibbs had wanted a full confession, and a goddamn reason. On the third time that Gibbs had the man hauled into interrogation, he got his wish. Walters finally broke, even with his appointed attorney present, and confessed to the whole thing.

It was over.

All that was left was where Gibbs was now, dealing with the aftermath. He'd seen everyone when he sent them all home. McGee (his new SFA) had been almost literally drowning in his emotions, floundering, both still trying to comprehend what had happened and trying to find a way forward. Ziva was cold and distant, reeling with the loss she reacted the only way he knew how, which was to pull back. Abby, poor Abby hadn't stopped crying yet. He didn't know if she would for a long time to come. Oh, she had gotten her job done, collected enough evidence to nail that bastard to the wall without a confession for she was as driven to seek justice for their fallen friend as the rest of them, but she had done so with a constant stream of tears and a few breakdowns along the way. Ducky looked as if he had aged ten years in the span of a few hours. The losses in his life were mounting, and Gibbs could tell that the ME couldn't handle much more of this. He'd seen Palmer briefly, and saw in his eyes a look of steely determination that wasn't there before. They'd more than likely been irreparably changed by the last few days.

Tony's funeral was tomorrow, Gibbs wasn't even sure who had organized it, maybe Ducky. It sure as hell wasn't DiNozzo Sr. The man wouldn't even be able to attend, business keeping him far too busy. Gibbs bitterly thought that at least now the two of them were in the same boat, having had children that they didn't get to know as adults. Of course, that hadn't been by choice on his part and he hoped that Mr. DiNozzo knew now exactly what he had squandered.

So here he was, half on his way to blind drunk the night before they were going to lay what was left of his best agent to rest, and Gibbs didn't know what he was going to do next. Absently, a noise overhead registered in his brain as something that he should be concerned about, but it wasn't until there were cautious footsteps on the stairs was Gibbs able to react enough to grab the gun he kept nearby and level it at the intruder.

The man had his hands up when he came into view and spoke, "He said you might do that."

"Who th' hell are you?" Gibbs growled.

"He said you might be a little drunk too," the man said.

"I _asked_ you a question." Gibbs said with a dangerous tone in his voice. Who the hell was this person and what was he doing here?

"Nate Calvert and I'm here to deliver something from someone." The newcomer reached for the folded paper in shirt pocket and extended it to Gibbs.

Gibbs eyed the paper suspiciously, but snatched it from the man's hand anyway, keeping his (only slightly waving) gun trained on him. Gibbs almost dropped the gun when he saw his name written on the envelope in very familiar handwriting, a new wave of dread overcoming him at the idea of reading the words of his agent from beyond the grave. But something didn't make sense; he eyed the man who called himself Nate Calvert suspiciously. "What is this?"

The man sighed, "It's exactly what it looks like, a letter from Tony. Read it."

A letter from Tony. He talked as if he knew Tony, but to Gibbs' recollection Tony had never mentioned this man's name, not that Gibbs could claim to know all of Tony's friends, but still, why would he send someone Gibbs didn't know to deliver a letter in the middle of the night knowing that the messenger might get his head blown off in the process? The man looked like he was done providing information and had retreated to the bottom of the stairs, so Gibbs opened the letter, and read.

_Hey Boss,_

_The first thing you should know is that I'm not dead. I know that you've been through a ton of physical evidence and have my murderer sitting in jail right now, but nothing is what it seems. I promise you, it was a setup, I'm not dead._

_Apparently I am needed to do a little undercover work for the NSA, there is a credible and possibly imminent threat to national security and I need to resurrect an old identity to find out how to stop it. They decided that it would be more likely to succeed if no one would come looking for me, hence the Fargo scene. It wasn't my idea, I found out after it was done, and I really shouldn't even be telling you now, so you have to keep this quiet. I mean it, tell no one else._

_Nate is coming with me as my backup, so please don't kill him. Believe me, I wouldn't have chosen to do this (especially this way) if there were other options, but the more that I get into the actual intel, well, I am the only one who can possibly get in. Don't worry I'll be cautious, and careful. I'm coming back, count on it._

_ Anthony DiNozzo_

_Authenticity check: Jack gave you a set of chisels last Christmas, my dad got me a rice cooker, ya know, 'cause I eat a lot of rice. _

Gibbs read the letter twice before it sank in, and the absolute relief that swept through him had him leaning heavily on his workbench. Tony was alive. Alive, and about to go into a highly dangerous situation with little backup, at the behest of the government. Nothing is what it seems. Suddenly little things made sense, the quick CODIS match from the local PD, they'd never actually tested the blood against another physical sample, just the database. The fact that on the security tape Tony'd paused inside the door instead of simply moving towards the stairs. The confession from Walters in the presence of his lawyer, it had all been a part of the scheme.

Relief was pushed out with the realization that his agent was still in danger, and Gibbs whirled on the man next to the steps, fixing him to that spot with a glare. "You're going with him."

"Yes."

"Are you supposed to make sure he is safe, or are you supposed to make sure the job gets done?" Gibbs advanced.

"Both," the man returned evenly, "Look, Tony and I go back a ways, he's saved my ass before, I don't want to see anything happen to him anymore than you do, but we _do_ need to neutralize this threat."

"How long is this supposed to take?"

"My best estimate is twelve to eighteen months," relief edged its way into Nate's voice.

Gibbs heard that relief and pounced; he invaded the man's personal space and spoke in a low, demanding tone. "You tell him that he'd better be back at his desk eighteen months from now or I'll find him where he is and kick his ass, and then I'm coming after you. You are going to make sure that I get my agent back alive and in once piece. Do you hear me?"

Nate nodded, slightly terrified of the man in front of him.

Gibbs looked the man square in the eye, "Give me your word."

"I promise," the wide-eyed NSA agent said.

"Good." Gibbs reached out and delivered a stinging slap to the back of Nate's head. "Make sure to pass that along too."

Nate looked a little shocked at the physical blow, but wisely didn't comment, and simply turned to go. Gibbs returned to the letter on his workbench. Tony was alive; he'd be back in eighteen months at the most. He could deal with that, hold the team together and make sure that the younger man had a place to come back to. They'd call him a royal bastard at work, because Gibbs was sure that he wouldn't be able to work up the amount of grief they would expect him to feel, but he had never cared what anyone said about him anyway. He'd keep this secret. All that mattered is that this was a temporary loss. Eighteen months isn't that long, he could do this.

With a small smile he tucked the letter amongst some of the designs for his project and put away his bourbon. Yeah, he could do this.

**A/N: For a functional mute, Gibbs can be rather talkative. The next chapter will be back to my normal length. We'll see how Ducky takes the news of Tony's return. Stay tuned, and thank you all of you for reading, alerting and reviewing!**

**To my anonymous friends, your kind support is very much appreciated. Until next time everyone!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: CBS had an end of season yard sale, they got rid of lots of things, but NCIS was not up for sale for any price, not that I could have offered much anyway. Therefore, sadly, I do not own anything related to NCIS nor have any of the rights of ownership nor make any money off this endeavor.**

After Tony had waited in the coffee line to replace McGee's latte, he and Ziva set out for the Navy Yard. It was a beautiful spring day, people were milling about outside, walking along, jogging, and generally enjoying the sun and nice weather. Tony couldn't help but compare this sight to the one from his nightmares of the past few days, dead bodies in the street, people running around in absolute chaos, mass panic. If these people knew the disaster that he and Nate had just averted, they'd never leave their homes. Tony shook his head, it was over, don't dwell on it.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't see the curious looks that he received from the woman walking beside him. "Tony, you are injured." Ziva said.

Damn. Friggin' federal investigators.

"Hmm?" He tried to play it off by feigning ignorance.

"You are limping."

"I'm not limping!"

"Then your gait is not normal," she looked at him pointedly, "You. Are. Injured."

"Ziva, trust me, I'm fine."

"I am going to take you to see Ducky," she said as they walked through the building entrance, her tone brooked no argument.

"Hey, don't do that married-woman, take-out-the-trash-now tone with me! I'm immune." Tony teased with a bright grin, but Ziva simply glared back.

"For your information, that was a do-as-I-say-because-I-can-kill-you-with-a-credit-card tone, and you _will_ see Ducky," a little menace crept into voice.

"Okay, okay, lay off. I'm going down to autopsy now. But don't start thinking it's because of your crazy assassin ninja tactics, I was headed there anyway 'cause I haven't been able to spread the good news to the good doctor yet, and you are _so _not coming." Tony steered her toward the elevator that was heading up, and beat it for the stairs before she could protest.

Tony walked the halls that would take him to autopsy. Like outside, things were picking up in the building, but down this far he didn't see more than three people on his way, and he didn't know any of them. He was immeasurably happy that he was going to be speaking with the last of his mocked-up little family that had grieved for his death. As soon as Vance, Gibbs, and Nate managed to settle things sufficiently between themselves, the news that Agent DiNozzo wasn't dead, but in fact just returned from a classified undercover mission would spread through the building like wildfire. It would be bigger than the Somalia op, and hearing things through the office gossip chain was not how he wanted Ducky to learn the of his return to the land of the living.

The only problem with seeing Ducky last was that his side was now beginning to hurt like a bitch, and there was no way that he'd be able to fool the older man. He'd also been up for too long, lost too much weight, generally disregarded his health, and may or may not look like crap (personally, he was going with 'not' but others may not agree with his optimistic view.) Yep, as soon as Ducky recovered from the initial shock of seeing him alive, Tony was in for one hell of a lecture.

Tony knew that like Gibbs and like himself, Ducky had made his family out of the people here at NCIS, so he knew that Ducky would have been devastated (albeit quietly) by his gruesome death. Ducky had lost a good many of friends over the years, but it would have been extremely hard to recover from the sight of pieces of flesh and bone spewed out on the ground thinking that those were the remains of a very dear friend. He'd been extremely touched when Nate reported back that Ducky had given his eulogy, and had spoken of him with the highest praise. He'd always thought of Ducky as an older uncle, one that was always ready to tell a story about some far-flung place, and give gentle chiding when he'd thought Tony needed the correction. He was like an Alfred to Tony's Bruce Wayne, and Tony genuinely valued that relationship. (Okay, so that was stroking his ego a bit, especially since it made Gibbs into Commissioner Gordon which certainly was not right, although the thought of Abby as Batgirl was _awesome_.)

Facing the familiar glass doors of autopsy, all he could do now was hope that Ducky would be able to understand. As the pressurized doors closed behind him, Tony only found Jimmy doing some paperwork. He frowned, "Hey Jimmy, the Duck-man not in yet?"

Palmer was about to answer when the doors hissed open again. Tony turned to look at the newcomer and met the surprised cry of the ME "Dear God, Anthony!"

Tony took one look at the complete shock on his face and then shot a meaningful look at Jimmy.

"I think that Abby is expecting me," the young ME assistant said as he got up and moved to leave the room.

"Thanks Jimmy. Would you tell her I'll head that way in a few?"

"Sure Tony," Jimmy said with a smile as he walked out.

The silence hung in the air for a few moments as the two normally verbose men regarded at each other. Ducky had very obviously just made it into work as he was still in his coat and hat. Somehow, his briefcase had made it to the floor, but Tony didn't remember the other man dropping it so he must have set it down. Mostly, he was surprised to see that it seemed as if a weight had settled in on the older man, as if the combination of his experiences and years were pulling him slowly to the floor. Guilt came roaring back with a vengeance.

"Ducky?" Tony asked, suddenly very unsure of what he should say.

At that simple question, a very strange thing happened. With a distinct sigh of relief Ducky straightened up and a slow smile spread across his face, With a chuckle he picked up his briefcase and moved further into autopsy saying "Very well, my dear boy, let's have a look at you."

Tony was confused. This was acceptance. Complete, almost immediate acceptance.

Tony remembered that when he had done his first miraculous reappearance back when his mustang had been blown to smithereens, Ducky had been happy to see him and contrite for believing him dead in the first place. However, there were major differences between the two situations, wood chipper notwithstanding. Back then the investigation had been active, Ducky had been the one to definitively prove that the body wasn't his, and everyone had known that he was still alive by the time that Tony had made it back to the Navy Yard. This time, his arrival threw everything that the ME had believed to be true for a year out the window. Tony's presence here proved that supposed facts were actually lies, proved that the older man had been purposefully kept in the dark, left out, sidelined.

Surely, Ducky should feel hurt, angry, or even betrayed. Why wouldn't anyone just yell at him? Didn't they know that his guilt complex simply increased with each person that welcomed him back almost without question?

"Ducky?" Tony tried again.

Ducky came out of his office bearing his bottle of scotch and two glasses, "Certainly if ever there were cause for celebration, this would be it. Care to join me?"

"It's not even nine in the morning, Ducky." Tony countered.

"Yes, well, a wee dram never harmed anyone, no matter the time of day." Ducky set the glasses down and poured a small measure into each, before picking his up. Tony reluctantly did the same and looked at the ME questioningly. "To your very good health," Ducky toasted with a bright smile before drinking.

Tony wordlessly knocked back his drink and immediately felt the burn in his empty stomach. He set the glass down and looked at the man in front of him. "Aren't you even a little angry with me, Ducky?"

"What a preposterous notion, my lad. In fact, relief and delight are the foremost emotions at this moment. Why on earth should I be angry with you?"

"You thought I was dead, you dealt with my remains, and you planned my goddamned _funeral_! And now to find out that all of it was…just some stranger…a waste, you seriously don't think that deserves even the slightest amount of irritation?"

"Anthony, I think that you far underestimate your importance to us if you think that I would value my efforts regarding your funeral arrangements over your own life," a slight amount of reproach crept into the ME's voice, "What is going through that head of yours my dear boy?"

A frustrated and pained look crossed Tony's face, a look that Ducky read very easily.

"Ah, it is guilt then," he stated.

"Ducky, I lied to all of you," Tony said quietly.

"Were you the mastermind behind these dreadful circumstances?"

"Well, no-"

"Well there you are then."

"But I didn't stop it!" Tony sprang from his semi-relaxed position leaning on one of the tables to the end of the room, intent on pacing, but the movement put extra strain on his injured side and he wasn't able to control the gasp that the awakening pain drew from his lips. "I didn't stop it," he said, stilling and putting a hand to his side with a grimace.

"Well, it seems my previous toast to your good health was a little premature," Ducky's voice took on that concerned tone he was well known for, "Come now, let me take a look at that." The older man took Tony gently by the arm, guided him to the nearest table, and helped him sit on it.

Ducky's hands were moving to lift his shirt when Tony stilled them and looked him in the eye, "I couldn't stop it, Ducky, and I really am sorry."

"My dear boy, _that_ must certainly be obvious to anyone who knows you. You would never willingly put any of us through any distress; of this, we are all well aware. It was not your fault." Ducky said with a reassuring confidence. "The past cannot be corrected and there are no amends that are to be made, we will simply move forward."

Tony shifted his gaze to somewhere on the opposite wall and heard Ducky sigh.

"Anthony, you cannot allow this misplaced sense of guilt to eat at you. It is a fruitless endeavor." Ducky shifted to lean against the table, "There was a young doctor I worked with during my time in Bosnia, he was a great big fellow with an excellent humor, and moreover, he was an excellent surgeon. He actually graduated from my alma matter, so you can imagine that we had much talk about," Ducky chuckled. "You could often find us laughing about our experiences in the same pubs, and with the same professors, and he had some amazing tales of his more adventurous capers. Oh, he was an extraordinary fellow."

"He took his Hippocratic Oath very seriously, he would work tirelessly to save anyone that came across his table and never thought twice about it, that is, until one particular day. When he went to check on a patient that he'd saved the previous evening he found a small boy standing over the man holding a large kitchen knife that was covered in blood. The boy had killed the patient. The stunned boy told my friend that the patient had been responsible for the massacre of an entire village, that he'd killed him to make sure that it wouldn't happen again. The boy then dropped the knife and ran off before my young doctor friend could react."

"His shock was not for the act of violence against his patient, but instead that he'd saved the life of someone who would so casually take others. My friend began to doubt what he was doing; not knowing if he'd unintentionally condemned other innocents by saving the lives of their murderers. He started to feel responsible for the death and destruction that surrounded us in that bloody conflict. It got to the point where he was trying to work out if the person he was working on was worth saving. It was inevitable that he began to lose more patients than he saved due to his indecision. Several months after the incident, he was sent home." Ducky sighed and looked at Tony expectantly.

"So you're trying to tell me that guilt could cause me to lose focus on my job and get people killed?" Tony asked.

"My dear boy, I'm trying to say that we cannot be responsible for the actions of others, we can only behave according to the dictates of our own consciences without regard to consequences that are impossible to fathom."

Tony let out a large sigh and thought about the truth of that statement. He'd acted in the way he felt was right this entire year. Ducky was right, all he could do now was move forward. His guilt was simply because he hated seeing any of his friends, this mocked-up little family, in pain. Just because he could be said to be the source, didn't mean he was the cause. He looked at Ducky and nodded.

"Well then, let us see what you've managed to do to yourself this time, lad," Ducky helped Tony remove his shirt and unwrapped the bandage on his side. "Anthony, this cut needs stitches! What were you thinking by simply wrapping it up?" the doctor scolded.

"I didn't _just_ wrap it up," Tony defended as Ducky probed the cut gently.

"Yes, I can see the paltry amount of steri strips, and did you use superglue on yourself?"

"It's no different from the liquid stitches that they'd use at the hospital."

"It is very different, Anthony. The glue that is used in emergency is FDA approved and completely non-toxic, this industrial-grade adhesive has chemicals that could be harmful if they make into your bloodstream in any significant amounts."

Tony sighed slightly, "It was the best I could do at the time, Ducky."

"Yes well, it also appears that you've been neglecting your health in general again. Why you're practically skin and bones!" Ducky said as he cleaned the gash of the offensive adhesive and rubbed a numbing agent into the surrounding skin. "And, pray tell, what was the cause of these marks on your shoulders?"

"An awl"

The ME stopped and stared at Tony.

"Don't worry about it, Ducky, they healed nicely," Tony reassured.

Ducky shook his head slightly and went off to fetch supplies for stitching up the cut. Tony could hear some of his mutterings about stubborn headed agents, and he smiled. He usually found comfort in this rather macabre setting, and this time was no different.

The doctor called from his office "I shall be supervising your recovery quite closely, young man. Don't even entertain the idea that you'll escape my attentions."

Yep, things would eventually be okay, he was sure of it now.

**A/N: This took a little longer than I wanted it to, so thank you all so much for waiting, and thank you for your kind reviews, alerts, and favorites. You people are the best! Next up, we'll see the beginning of Tony's undercover operation. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: Things I don't own: A dishwasher, a Porsche, season tickets to the New York Symphony, a large Gorilla costume, goldfish…uh…oh, and anything related to NCIS. **

**A/N: I am really sorry this update took so long, this chapter was hard to write for some reason. I would like to thank each and every reviewer to this story, whenever you submitted your review. It has been wonderful to read such positive comments, you all had a hand in motivating me to make this story all that it has turned out to be. THANK-YOU! I hope you like this chapter as well.**

"I want new intel," Tony declared after a lengthy silence, dropping a large sheaf of paper down on the conference table of what was now their situation room.

"All we've been doing for the since we got the alert from FINCEN is gathering intel," Agent Chambers sighed, "What more could there possibly be to know?"

"I want to see things for myself."

Sparks rolled his eyes and Chambers ran his hands through his short hair, pulling at what little he could get a grip on. Tony got the distinct impression that they were sincerely regretting that they had to deal with him on this operation.

"This is going to be another one of your unreasonable demands, isn't it?" Sparks' ever irritated tone sounded from the end of the table.

"It's not an unreasonable demand, I don't make unreasonable demands. I'm not an unreasonable person. I simply suggest courses of action and refuse to take "no" for an answer. And for your information that's why we are now well supplied with doughnuts, compliments of Nate," Tony said lightly. He continually combated Sparks' brooding irritation with jocularity, even if it was extremely forced, because it never failed to piss the other man off.

Sparks huffed in response to that comment and Tony had to bite back a grin, the man was simply too easy to rile.

"He's just stubborn Logan; it was one of the consistent comments made at his funeral." Nate chimed in as he walked through the door, pulling off his tie.

Tony's head swiveled to Nate; he hadn't seen the other man since yesterday evening. They'd cooked up a plan that would get Nate to Gibbs' house sometime before his funeral, and everything seemed to go off without a hitch, but their pre-arranged signal had failed to come through. He didn't know if that meant that the NSA agent had failed or if he'd simply not had the time to send the message. He locked eyes with Nate and then tried to hide his relief at the reassurance he found there.

"Yeah, how'd that go?" he asked.

"I get the feeling that you will be missed. There were certainly a large number of people there. No one even asked for my name," Nate replied.

Tony suddenly found the carpet pattern very interesting as he gulped down the emotions that fought to make themselves known. Sometimes the reality of this situation hit him afresh, and a wave of despair flowed over him. He didn't want to think about all of the people that now thought he was dead, right now he'd just focus on the one person who didn't. He'd make it up to the rest of them somehow. He just had to get through this mission first.

"Yeah, well… how 'bout we get back to business," he decided a change of topic was in order.

"Yes, let's," Agent Chambers said. "Just what do you think that you'll see that well-trained NSA agents have missed?"

"I know the man; I have insight on how his mind works. I would be able to read more into situations than your average NSA grunt. If I recall correctly, that's why I'm _here_," Tony sniped.

"Time is of the essence here, DiNozzo. We can't waste it chasing our own tails!" Chambers defended the work of his co-workers.

"Look, it's my life on the line if there's something even slightly misread in all of this," Tony gestured to the mountains of paper on the table, "It won't take three weeks for Nate and I to take a look around, and it's not as if a nuke attack is going to happen in between now and then."

"I agree," Nate added his two cents, "If there were an imminent threat like that there'd be more chatter. We can get more intel while our covers are being set. It'll that long to get our covers as deep as we need anyway, so we're really not losing any time."

Chambers threw up his hands in frustration, and walked out of the room muttering. Sparks looked at the both of them coolly and let out a sigh through clenched teeth, "Fine, do your intel."

*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*

Three weeks later, and Tony was willing to admit that the NSA had some pretty cool toys to play with. Super classified high tech things that would make McGee (who would probably need no training in how to actually _use_ them) as giddy as a schoolgirl. Well, that or he'd laugh manically while imagining what he could do with the sheer amount of equipment that Tony'd had at his disposal. The first week they hadn't even left the field office, using dedicated satellites and ECHELON to track Jose Velasquez through the normal routine of his life. They'd run the names and faces of anyone that he met with (the ones they could get a good angle on anyway) through the immense NSA databases, and Tony had been able to backfill information on many of the ones that didn't get a hit through the system.

Despite the hours worked and the information gained, Tony had become extremely restless by the end of that week. He was a cop, he liked to be out in the field, tech work was best left to those who knew what they were doing. So he and Nate had grabbed some of the audio/visual spy thingys and drove off to Philadelphia. They'd staked out Jose's normal haunts, managed to get a view bugs inside and waited. Despite the fact that they were just as cooped up in the van as they had been back at base, Tony'd felt better, felt like they were getting somewhere.

After two weeks following Jose's shadow and researching everyone that they could get a name on, Tony felt they were ready. He knew the names of all of Jose's lieutenants, his close associates, the proprietors of the business that Jose frequented. In short, they knew the crime lord's routine backwards and forwards.

All of this still didn't tell them anything about the suspected terrorist cell. He and Nate couldn't even make a guess as to the nature of the partnership that the higher ups at FINCEN and the NSA were sure was there. To Tony that meant one of two things, either Jose refused to deal personally with them (something he found unlikely given that the line of business was supposedly highly lucrative), or he carried out everything completely underground. Probably literally underground, there were a number of buildings that had basements and underground parking garages that they could have their nefarious "deep throat" type meetings. Yep, there was no avoiding it, they needed to be closer to get any usable information.

Tony also had confidence in the covers that had been set up in that timeframe. Of course, he would resurrect Anthony Bateman, and Nate would become his brother Nathan Bateman. That should work out fine, because although Nate's features were distinctly thinner and more classically Grecian, they did look enough alike to pull it off, and anyway half pretending to be related to someone was getting the same mannerisms down. Tony was especially proud of the history that he'd set up for them. Twelve years had been hard to bridge in a believable way, but he'd plundered both his memory and old case notes to build what he was certain would pass muster with the paranoid mob boss, hell he was pretty sure it would pass even FBI-type scrutiny.

After being arrested in Philadelphia when Jose last saw him, Anthony Bateman served the entirety of his five year sentence for embezzlement and fraud in Herlong Federal Penitentiary, California. After being released he stayed on the west coast, spending a couple of years in Seattle as an entrepreneur. Of course allegations of slightly dubious business practices haunted him, especially as Anthony Bateman was never short on funds. However, it was in Seattle that poor Anthony met his undoing, for it was there he fell in love with and married Atlanta, Georgia native Caitlyn Marcum.

After the birth of a daughter, Mrs. Kate Bateman had dragged her husband back to her native sweltering Atlanta to be closer to her family. She pleaded and begged and outright demanded that he run his business honestly. So he had tried to please her, the problem was simply that in honest business the profit margins were pitifully slim. The money that Kate had become accustomed to in Seattle dwindled, and fights began. With this latest downturn of the economy everything ended in a painful and bitter divorce.

Tony felt a little bad for using Kate as his model for an ex-wife, but she was the only woman that he with whom he had consistently argued. He didn't count Ziva because although they would bicker, a lot of their arguments were still laced with innuendo and banter, which was not the case with Kate. Well, that and Kate had always been on his case about something, eating healthier, acting his age, the girls he dated…it just seemed to fit. Of course, he would slant a lot of the arguments that they'd had more negatively than they had actually been, it _was_ just a model.

It was during the early stages of his marriage falling apart that Anthony Bateman reconnected with his younger brother Nathan, who lived in Richmond, Virginia. Nathan had taken an the exact opposite track in life than his brother (or tried to, anyway), he had worked faithfully and honestly for the CSX railroad for fifteen years only to be laid off as a part of cost cutting measures last year. Nathan hadn't yet found Ms. Right, lived in an unassuming and boring part of Richmond, and was heavily in debt. Nathan Bateman was a gambler.

Both in search of much needed funds, the two brothers were now ostensibly heading toward a job opportunity in Newark, New Jersey. The story was that a buddy of Nathan's was superintendent of the of a dockyard there and could get the two penniless men work. This was where the entrance point was, on the road to Newark, the two were going to be making a detour through Philadelphia and stop at a diner that just happened to be owned and operated by Jose Velasquez's half sister, and where he ate breakfast everyday he was able. It needed to look like a chance meeting between old acquaintances.

*NCIS*NCIS*NCIS*

"Stop it! Just stop it! God, if I had known you were going to be this annoying I would have made you into a used car salesman. Enough with the train facts!" Tony was about to kill his new partner. Who could have guessed that the man had been a train enthusiast growing up? It was worse than McGee's jetpack PowerPoint presentation. There were a lot more train engines in the world, and they had a considerably longer history. Apparently, Nate could recite every fact and figure for every single engine, car, track, and company for the past two hundred years.

Nate laughed, "Jose would never trust a former used car salesman, but we can switch to talking about cars if you like."

"We're almost there, let's just-"

"You're nervous."

"No"

"Yes"

"No, I'm not."

Nate fixed Tony with a stare.

"That's not going to work, I've worked under Gibbs and his far more powerful glare for too long." Tony responded.

"Whatever man, you're still nervous." Nate turned his head to stare out the window.

Tony let the silence stretch for a little while, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach. Not that they really were butterflies, because he wasn't nervous in the least. It was simply a modest sense of self preservation running up against the idea that this could go very badly very quickly if his cover had been blown sometime between twelve years ago and now. So, yes, yes he was very nervous. What of it? That didn't mean that he had to let Nate know he was right.

Cora's Diner was just coming up on the right, and Tony gave a silent Hail Mary as he turned their SUV into the parking lot. Jose Velasquez's car and his small entourage were parked next to the door of the popular restaurant. If they'd timed this right, Jose should be just about paying his bill by now. Yep, in fact two of Velasquez's muscle men were already outside.

"Showtime," he muttered.

Nate grinned at Tony and then practically flew from the car even before it stopped moving. Loudly cursing he distanced himself the vehicle. Tony put the SUV in park and opened the door. Standing up on the running board, he looked across the top of the vehicle at Nate taking deep breaths in the middle of the parking lot. "What the hell, man?"

"It was _huge_! I could help it!"

"What was huge, Nate?" Tony played up his confusion.

"The fucking spider on the center console!"

Tony stooped down to look in the vehicle, "I don't see a spider. Are you sure that you don't need glasses?"

"It was there, I swear! It was like a black widow or something. It was huge!"

"Well, it's not here now. Will you just get back in the car?"

"I'm not getting back in that car until that little rat bastard has been found and sent to hell where he belongs."

Tony gave a frustrated sigh. Sitting back in the car, he gave a cursory look around. "Look, there's no spider. Just get back in the car."

"No, absolutely not," Nate replied vehemently.

A defeated groan escaped from Tony as he shut off the SUV. He grabbed a flashlight from the glove box and got out of the vehicle, beginning a search of the vehicle's carpet for the phantom spider. When he moved around to the passenger side of the car he could see in his peripheral vision the medium sized form of Jose Velasquez just exiting the diner. He looked up at Nate and scowled, "You're more arachnophobic than Kate, I swear."

"Tony?" the tenor of their target queried. "Anthony Bateman?"

Tony looked over to where he was called, his undercover skills allowing him to school his features into slight confusion before a realization spread across his face. "Jose Velasquez, my God." Tony laughed and stretched out his hand.

The mob boss quickly grasped the outstretched hand and pulled Tony into a hug. "It has been too long, amigo, but you look well. What brings you back to my city?" Jose's smile was easy and genuine.

"Just passing through the area, Jose. Kinda wanted to see the city again, I haven't been back here since, well…"

Jose's smile faded, "Yes, that was a bad business that took you away from us, Dad expected you to return, you know. I thought that you'd at least call."

Tony looked down to his feet briefly, "I heard about Martin, Jose and I'm so sorry for your loss. I wish I could've come back to visit him before the end. I never thought that the Feds would get the charges to stick, let alone a conviction, and after a nickel in Herlong, well…"

Jose clapped Tony on the shoulder, "You are here now, and we can spend the day catching up," Jose's smile returned to its former brilliance.

Tony sighed, "Couldn't possibly, Jose. Me and Sissy over there," Tony gestured to Nate who was doing his best to look bored, "have to get to Newark."

"What on earth could possibly drag you to that hellhole?" Jose was slightly incredulous.

Nate chimed in, "My buddy Rick lives there. He said he can get us some work."

Jose raised an eyebrow, his sharp features displaying his level of doubt. "There are no jobs in New Jersey, amigo."

"No, no. You see, he works on the docks and said he could squeeze in the both of us on his crew." Nate defended his earlier statement.

If anything the eyebrow of the crime lord inched higher, and he turned to Tony slightly.

"It's the best shot we've had at making money in awhile, Jose. I know it might not work out," Tony said with a sigh, "but, ex-cons don't get hired very quickly."

"Sissy?" Jose queried.

Tony smiled, "My little brother, Nate."

"And he's…" Jose was slightly incredulous.

"Hmm? Oh! God no, he's never done time. They'd eat him alive inside. No, he's just worked with trains his whole life."

"Hmm, interesting."

Tony could see that Jose was evaluating both of them, weighing his options, and the corresponding risks. A smile once again graced his features as his decision was made. "You should have called, Tony. You are a very skilled man, I can certainly use someone of your talents in the business. Besides, this is family, I could no more turn my back on my sisters. You will both come and work for me. Problem solved."

Tony allowed a fiendish glee to overtake his eyes and he turned to the confused looking Nate. "Call up Rick and tell him we've had a better offer."

"Tony?" Nate acted nervous.

"Nate, trust me. This is going to be a good thing," Tony smiled.

"Yes, yes. I have much for you to do, Tony. And I am sure we can find a suitable position for your brother. This will certainly be a good thing. Just like old times, well…almost. What a fortuitous meeting!" Jose laughed. "Now come, you'll follow myself and the boys home and we'll get you situated."

"I can't thank you enough, Jose." Tony said.

"Nonsense. Like I said, this is family."

"Let's go, Nate."

"You kill the spider yet?"

"Oh, for the love of God. Just get in the damned car before I tie you up and throw you in the back. If it's the same place I remember, it's not far." Tony reasoned with his 'brother' before turning to Jose, "Afraid of spiders, worse than my ex-wife."

Jose laughed again, "You see, we have much to catch up on."

All of the men moved to their respective vehicles and left the diner behind. They were in, Tony only hoped that he could somehow manage to stay alive now. "And here we go!"

**A/N: I am sorry if there are a lot of grammatical errors. I read through it once, but I usually miss a few things and I really wanted this up before I head off to the Oregon coast for the weekend. All of you lovely people deserve faster updates, and I am working on that. **

**Next up: Let's see what Gibbs has to say to the newly returned Tony. **

**Have a great weekend everybody!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: Hmmm, let's try to find a different way to say this. I still do not own any of the rights to NCIS, and I do not make any money from this story. Oh wait, that's the exact same thing I've been saying for… oh, I guess this is eleven chapters now! Well then, I think you probably get the idea…**

Tony had just finished putting his shirt back on after Ducky had stitched up the cut to his side and cleaned up the rest of the abrasions with antiseptic when Gibbs came through the autopsy doors, propelling a protesting Nate in front of him.

"Would you knock it off! I'm not dead Agent Gibbs, I don't need to be in autopsy!" Nate cried.

"Ducky's still a doctor, he'll be more than happy to take a look at you."

Tony laughed at the sight. Gibbs was standing in front of the door, blocking any attempt to escape that Nate might think to make, and looking every inch the Marine Gunnery Sergeant that he used to be. He was giving Nate a half-strength glare that was simultaneously daring the NSA agent to try and make a break for it, and warning him that he'd end up on his ass if he did. In juxtaposition, Nate was standing a little further in the room, slouched and slightly disheveled, scowling back at Gibbs with as much fury as he could muster in his state of exhaustion. Tony thought he looked like a delinquent teenager.

"Oh, it's not that bad, Nate. It's how he says 'Thank-you'. Well, that and 'You're an idiot'," Tony said smiling, only to have both Nate and Gibbs turn their fierce looks onto him.

"Ouch, rough crowd."

"I don't care what it means, it's degrading, and…and unnecessary, and…um…" Nate's protests trailed off.

"Practical?" Tony offered.

Nate sighed and limped over to the table that Tony was still sitting on, "Fine."

Duck immediately moved to look at Nate's ankle, "Surely my lad, you must be in considerable pain, the whole joint is some shade of mottled purple. There's no need to continue to suffer."

"It's not bad, really," Nate said through gritted teeth, inhaling sharply when Ducky manipulated the joint.

"Ducky, this is Nate Calvert. Nate, this is Dr. Donald Mallard," Tony made the necessary introductions.

"Nate's also been watching DiNozzo's six for the past year and some," Gibbs offered coming closer now that the threat of an escape attempt had past.

"Well, it certainly is a pleasure then. Now then, where else are you injured?" the doctor asked.

"Besides the sprain, he's badly scraped up on his right side, a gouge in his right shoulder that got the same superglue treatment that I gave myself, and I think he took a knock to the head," Tony rattled off the list of injuries as Nate glared at him.

"Man, your game was made when you winced the first time," Tony checked his watch, "like seven hours ago. Now's just the time to fess up."

"Yeah, and what exactly is wrong with you DiNozzo?" Gibbs demanded as he came to stand next to Tony.

"Nothing Boss. I'm fit as a fiddle, right as rain. Nothing wrong with me at all."

"So what's this about superglue, huh?"

"Yeah Tony, what _did_ you say about superglue?" Nate chimed in, teasing darkly.

"Um," Tony's eyes flicked about trying to think of a plausible excuse, only to be saved by Ducky.

"Anthony only has a deep laceration to the left side of his thorax, and some minor abrasions that I have cleaned and disinfected. He appears to have come out this most recent altercation relatively unscathed, although considering the scarring I noted earlier, I surmise that that was not always the case."

Gibbs glared, Tony smiled. "Well, you know how these things go, Boss, it's not always safe."

"Yeah, I know." Gibbs shifted his glare to include Nate, "The both of you could have been killed."

"We were a two man team sent to take down a mob organization and a terrorist cell, we did the best we could," Tony tried to reason.

"And we're still alive, so that has to count for something," Nate added, obviously thinking that it might lend something to Tony's 'all's well that ends well' position.

By the look that Gibbs was wearing Tony could easily see that it hadn't. The older man had been worried, he concluded. Of course, frustration at not having any information other than Tony's letter would have added to his apprehensions, (the man truly _hated_ being left in the dark about anything,) and fourteen months of not being able to help, not being able to see for himself that his agent was not doing something that would result in certain death, well that was bound to create some tension in a man who expressed the emotions of fear and helplessness as anger. Tony decided that the best response at the moment was silence, and he quickly made a hand gesture to Nate that told him to leave things be. He waited to see if Gibbs would think that his displeasure had been well and truly noted by the both of them, or if he would continue his castigation of what he considered their recklessness.

Gibbs sighed and ran a scrubbed a hand across his face before nodding once. "Nate, you'll let Ducky finish or I'll track you down and haul your ass back. Got it?"

Nate nodded.

"Jethro, I don't think this young man will be going anywhere very fast, even without your threats. I think that an air cast and a pair of crutches are in order for this ankle, Nathaniel. I'm quite surprised that you've been able to put any weight on it at all. I'll have the rest of you patched up in a jiff, don't you worry about that."

"And I'll be back to get you in a bit," Tony said as he patted his friend on the back lightly.

"DiNozzo, with me." Gibbs said turning to leave autopsy.

"But Boss, I was going back the lab to see Abby again,"

"I'll drop you off then"

"Wish me luck, Duck." Tony said as he moved to follow Gibbs into the hallway.

"I doubt you'll need it, my lad." Tony heard Ducky's answer just as the automatic doors of autopsy closed.

Gibbs didn't say anything as they waited for the elevator to come down. Tony's gaze was fixed on the numbers as they came down, he noted when it stopped its journey at the second floor and when it continued down. He fought the urge to whistle, knowing it probably wouldn't be the best time for it, but he also couldn't think of a single thing to say to the man standing next to him.

This was the first time that Tony had for a chance at a private conversation with his mentor. Sure, they'd driven straight to Gibbs' house after they were sure that it was all over, (they'd arrived at a little past three in the morning, and Gibbs still had been sanding away), but Gibbs had seen them and immediately jumped into action, calling Vance and arranging the debrief they'd just had up in that man's office. Since then, it had been hours of going over the original information that came in to the NSA over a year ago, the ins and outs of the mission itself, the details of the people that had been arrested and an intense arguing session about inter-agency cooperation and the major breach of trust between the two agencies that Vance believed to have happened when the NSA orchestrated Tony's death. When Tony had left the room (had been excused, actually), he'd been pretty sure that he still had a position at NCIS, but got the feeling that Vance was angling to get something from the NSA as compensation for poaching one of his agents, even temporarily.

Gibbs had refused to leave the room at the same time that he'd been excused, and Tony was acutely aware that that was because Gibbs had intended to fight on his behalf on any issue that might come up. He knew that the only reason that he might be able to return to something that was even close to normal in his life was because of the man currently at his left and waiting for the elevator to arrive. Tony knew that he had Gibbs' unwavering loyalty, just as Gibbs had his, that was never in question. He knew there was no lengths that the other man wasn't willing to go for him, which left him struggling with a different emotion than he had with everyone else, gratitude.

Tony had placed a large burden on the man when he'd had Nate deliver the letter. He'd left Gibbs to deal with everything, Tony's estate and possessions, driving off the probies to keep his desk open, the dual burdens of keeping the truth to himself and keeping everyone else running, and the probably near constant worry that Tony'd get himself killed. Tony knew Gibbs would dismiss it as unnecessary, but Tony wanted to say something to the effect of a 'Thank You', but had no idea where to begin.

The elevator doors opened finally and the two of them stepped in. Tony was under no illusions that this would be a quick ride up one level, so he leaned against the railing and waited for the older man to flip the switch. The "office" was plunged into that bluish darkness within five seconds of the door closing and Tony looked up from his shoes to his boss's face.

"Boss, I-"

Gibbs waved what Tony was going to say off, "Save it, you'd have done the same for me. You _have_ done the same thing for me."

"Mexico was nothing like this."

Gibbs shrugged and half rolled his eyes, and Tony knew that they'd be agreeing to disagree on this point for the foreseeable future. Tony ran a hand through his hair while sighing. "Well then, I still owe you-"

"Don't owe me a damned thing, DiNozzo." Gibbs cut him off again.

"Would you just accept a damned thank you, for once!" Tony's tone was irritated, which wasn't what he'd wanted, but at least he'd been able to get the words out without interruption.

It was Gibbs' turn to sigh, and he accompanied it with a small nod. Thanks accepted. Tony nodded back, thanking heaven that the silent understanding that the two of them shared hadn't been damaged by time, and waited for the other man to either pick up a new thread of conversation or re-start the elevator.

When Gibbs caught his eyes again Tony could see the question in them, "I won't lie, it wasn't easy, and getting back won't be either, but I will be fine." Tony assured.

"You'll need time off," the statement was really more of an order, "and you're gonna stay with me for it."

"Well," Tony said with a slight smile, "it's not exactly like I have anywhere else to go, I'm still kinda dead."

Gibbs' head cocked ever so slightly to one side and an eyebrow rose, apparently Tony's quick acquiescence was unexpected. Gibbs probably thought he'd have to deal with several rounds of protests and then end up dragging him by the collar back to the house.

Tony gave a bit of a shrug as his only response, knowing that Gibbs would read in it a bit of a need for the stability Gibbs' home had always provided.

"You did a hell of a job out there, Tony."

Tony recognized the pride in the older man's voice and smiled. He knew he'd done well, lives had been saved, terrorists were in jail, and a mob organization would never be able to recover, but to have Gibbs say it…well, it just made the victory sweeter somehow.

"You do something so reckless again, and I'll kick your ass."

Praise followed by a caution, it was how it always went. It was like the headslaps, it made him feel wanted, needed, loved. Tony's smile grew as Gibbs reached over to restart the elevator's upward journey.

"And for the record, I do _not_ like being without my senior field agent for over a year."

"That means I have my job back?"

Gibbs shot him a slightly irritated, questioning look.

"Right Boss, stupid question." Tony said as he stepped off the elevator to go back to Abby's lab. Yep, it was good to be back.

**A/N: Ending Alert! There is really only one more chapter to this story (well, one and a half), so obviously, I am not writing the details of Tony's undercover operation here. I am sorry if that disappoints some of you, but not only would it not fit in the structure confines I've created, it doesn't fit in with my goals with this story. Reap What You Sow has always been about actions and reactions. Tony's actions and the resulting reactions of those around him. With this chapter, I'm out of reactions, and it only makes sense to end it here with an epilogue (two if you count the half chapter) to follow. If you are looking forward to reading about Tony's time with Nate in the undercover op, please join me for Blood Red Fields which I will start working on as soon as the last epilogue for this story has been posted. Thanks again for all of your lovely words of encouragement. Take care!**

**~Angel**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: Hmm…let's see: a goldfish (still), a pet rock, NCIS, a pumpkin-shaped carriage, real estate in the Caribbean, stamps, milk, whole chicken, pomegranate juice. Wait a sec…Oh crap, I've mixed up the 'Things I Don't Own' list with the shopping list! *Sigh* Okay, new sheet of paper…**

**A/N: I love you all!**

Tony was completely immersed in the SOM as he took pictures of the body in front of him and the surrounding area. He was loving it. Well, not the dead guy in front of him, that wasn't good at all, but the case, the crime scene. He was completely resurrected with all the proper paperwork filed, physical taken and now he was back doing the job he loved. Investigating. No cover story to stick to, no looking over his shoulder for imminent danger, just investigating crimes and sending the bad guys to prison. If Tony never went undercover again, that'd be just fine with him, this was the work he knew he was born for. Tony could feel the excitement of the chase build as he took his photographs of the slim body of Officer Vince DeSilva that had been contorted to fit in the cooler that sat in the back of the burnt-out SUV they were currently processing.

"People watch too much CSI, a car doesn't burn at a high enough temperature to actually fully burn human remains, our killer's gotta be a novice." McGee said behind him.

"Car's probably stolen," Tony said with a certainty that drew the eyes of all of his teammates. "Thieves steal the car, not knowing about the body in the back, commit whatever crime they originally planned, ditch the car hear and torch it to burn away any evidence that they were in it."

"Okay," Tim said drawing the word out, but willing to play along with the scenario, "What makes you think that?"

"The body in the cooler." Tony said as if that were the only explanation required, upon seeing three matching blank stares he continued, "If you were to set fire to a car in an attempt to cremate a body, why would you insulate it from the flames? Doesn't make sense. Ergo, the car was likely stolen."

"Maybe, the killer put Petty Officer DeSilva in the cooler to transport him to the car, and conceal him from prying eyes," Ziva countered.

"That probably happened, but it doesn't mean that the killer torched his car to get rid of the evidence. Not when he could bury the cooler under about two feet of dirt in a secluded area and have only a small chance that it would ever be tied back to him. I'm willing to bet that Metro's got a car matching this description involved in a drive-by last night."

"McGee!" Gibbs voice rang out in command.

"Right boss, I'll call Metro now, and when we get back to the office I'll start on reports of stolen vehicles matching our Escalade here."

"If our killer owns the car, he probably would not report it stolen, McGee," Ziva mentioned.

"If he wants to look innocent he will," Tony chimed back in. "Or he borrowed it from one of his friends or family and they'll report it stolen. Either way it'll probably be a pretty good lead." From his peripheral vision Tony saw Ziva nod her head and turn back to bagging and tagging, and couldn't help but wonder. That little bit of deference he was getting from McGee and Ziva was certainly new to the team dynamic. Not that he didn't think that they respected him before, it was just more of a sibling rivalry back then. Both of them would've come up with theories of their own that would contradict his. Of course, he could be reading too much into things, this was only his second case back, and they may simply be getting used to his presence again. Or they just really liked his ideas…still, it felt more like a permanent change, and one of many.

Tony hadn't thought that he'd be able to come back and have everything be just as it was before. Time and experiences change people, and they certainly had changed Ziva and Tim. McGee had a new quiet calming effect on witness that allowed him to get far more information out of them than he used to. He'd also gained an insight into people that made him almost as good at finding out their motivations as cracking into their computers. Ziva was now a scary _good_ interrogator, rather than just scary. She had picked up a level of perception that she hadn't had before, and she wielded it like a weapon against suspects, drawing out confessions and details where they would've clammed up on her before. Yes, it was safe to say that his probies had grown up into investigators and he was inordinately proud of them; he knew that it hadn't been easy.

_-flashback (a little)-_

_The first of the newly re-instituted game nights between Tony and Tim was winding down, both of their controllers were sitting amongst several empty bottles of beer and assorted snacks on the coffee table in front of Gibbs' hideous plaid couch. On the screen of Tony's huge 56" television (he had hesitated all of a minute before installing it and all of his other entertainment system equipment in Gibbs' living room,) the computerized skyline of Rome circa 1499 was displayed. Abby, (who had decided to keep a closer eye on "her Tony" and invited herself for the evening), was asleep, curled up in a feline-like position that only she could attain against Tony's left side. _

_As Tony munched on another of whatever cheesy, puffy thing that Abby had made, he noted Tim pulling at the dregs of his beer and counted the empties on the table against what he knew he'd consumed and reached the conclusion that, along with the raven-haired sleeping beauty, the younger man would be spending the rest of the night here. He gently dislodged Abby from her position and repositioned her so that she was leaning on the end of the couch before turning to his probie._

"_Come on, let's get this place cleaned up before we catch hell from the bossman."_

_Tim nodded and collected some of the empty bottles as he stood, while Tony went for the plates and a couple of the bowls. As they moved toward the kitchen, Tony managed to quickly free one of his hands so as to steady the weaving McGee. _

"_Whoa there, after we finish cleaning we'll get the couch set up for you to crash there for the rest of the night," Tony said with a slight chuckle. _

"_I'm not," Tim began to protest, but was stopped by the skeptical look on Tony's face, "Okay, I am, but what about Abby?"_

"_She can bunk with me tonight, it'll make her feel better anyhow." _

_Tim sighed as he deposited his load in the trashcan. "She was a mess after, you know. We all were." _

_Tony knew that the only reason that McGee was getting into all of this was because he was drunk. In the two weeks that Tony had been back everyone had endeavored to simply welcome him back and move forward. They all used terms like "During your time away," or "for the past while," or vague hand gestures indicating the time period that no one wanted speak of. Classic avoidance tendencies, although he wasn't sure if they were doing to spare him or themselves._

"_I know, I'm sorry," Tony responded._

"_You don't need to apologize for anything, it wasn't your fault. I mean, now we know. Well, at least as much as you are allowed to tell us."_

"_You're really gonna try and tell me you didn't hack into the NSA for the rest of the information?" Tony asked smiling._

_Tim looked back at Tony sheepishly, "Well…I-"_

"_It's curiosity like that that makes you a good investigator. Don't worry, I'm not mad, I expected it."_

_McGee let out a breath of relief, "Good."_

_The silence between them stretched out a bit, and Tony was about to leave Tim leaning against the counter and continue cleaning up the mess in the living room when Tim spoke again._

"_Look Tony, when you were dead, it wasn't like with Kate. There wasn't any not thinking about it. It was always there, always…I don't think like you do, well, no one thinks like you do, but I couldn't even try. Ziva wasn't able to either, and it was all we could do to try and fill the hole that was more like a giant chasm. Gibbs was a bear, although that makes more sense now, and Abby, she…well, you saw the lab. It was almost torture waking up in the morning and having to face coming to work." _

_Tony could easily picture it. Losing people in their line of work was always hard, but for the group of them that were more like family than was particularly healthy, it was devastating. "Tim, for what It's worth, I think you did a really good job."_

_The younger agent huffed, "Yeah, well…probably."_

"_No probably about it."_

"_Well, I'm still really glad that you're back."_

_Tony wasn't really sure what he should say after all that earnestness from McGee and the moment became slightly awkward as Tony searched for words. Eventually, he decided to just keep it simple, "Thanks, Tim."_

_Tim stared blankly at Tony for a moment, but then quickly nodded his head, the simple action somehow causing the younger man to lose a little of his equilibrium and he started to lean dangerously to one side. _

"_Okay there, McDrunk," Tony said as he rushed forward to steady his friend, "If you can manage to stay upright, I'll clear up everything and we can all get to bed. Sound like a plan?"_

_Tim nodded again, giving a thumbs up sign that Tony would have believed more if the whole leaning issue hadn't started again. _

"_Right," Tony drew the word out, steering Tim to one of the kitchen table chairs "Just McFocus on staying still McConcentrate." Tony shook his head as he hurried back to the living room to finish cleaning up._

_-End flashback-_

As Tony waited for Ducky and Jimmy to remove the body from the warped and melted cooler so he could take any pictures that were necessary, he mused a little further. His teammates weren't the only ones that had changed in this past year and a half. He was different as well, he'd seen ugly things, some of the worst humanity had to offer and been a part of an organization that preyed on weak people. True, he'd done it before, but it was never an easy thing to reconcile. Part of it, he knew, was that he was still "coming down" as it was termed from the intensity of the mission. He was still having nightmares almost every night, but at least he'd reached the point where he could return to sleep after one.

Those first few nights when he'd woken up in a cold sweat, Gibbs had made sure to be available for any reason Tony might need him, and Tony was very grateful for that. Having someone ready and willing to do or say anything you might need was very important in re-establishing a sense of self. Gibbs had also taken steps in making sure that Tony felt at home in his house as possible, even making a new set of shelves for all of Tony's movies and books. Tony wasn't in any great hurry to leave the home and the comfort provided by Gibbs just yet, not only did his continued presence help alleviate the older man's worry, Tony liked it there, and he also didn't have much in the way of a credit score yet. Being dead really did a number on that.

Given time, they'd all manage to find a new balance, and they were already taking these first important steps towards that, but their collective experiences would never be forgotten and Tony was actually glad of that. He didn't want to forget, and he was sure that none of the others did either. The whole debacle was bringing them closer, and would undoubtedly make them function better as a team. Generally, Tony was looking forward to what the future could hold.

"Dr. Palmer, if you would just lift the young man's arm a little to the left," Ducky was instructing as he and Palmer attempted to move the body which seemed very stuck in its position. "No, no, try the other way."

"Yes Doctor." Palmer tried again to un-wedge the body from his position, an attempt that proved futile.

"Oh, it's no use. Jethro!" Ducky called to get Gibbs' attention, "Unfortunately, this young man is quite cemented to his position, we'll have to take the whole thing."

"Do whatever you have to do, Duck. DiNozzo-"

"Go, talk to the business owners on the other side of the street to see what if anything they saw and see if they've any security cameras pointed this direction. On it Boss," Tony packed up the camera and walked off the scene smiling.

**A/N: OMG! I am so sorry! This wasn't supposed to take this long, I wanted it out weeks ago. Unfortunately for me, I managed to break my ankle (for the second time) about two weeks ago. So I went through all the fun of surgery and re-learning how to use the damnable crutches. I also had a medication issue that I'll not bore you with the details on, but suffice to say, my plot bunnies took a small vacation in all of that and I'm only now just collecting them all again. Thank you so much for all of your reviews and alerts. **

**To : Thank you, I managed to separate your reviews for my stories easily enough and I consider a comparison of my ****Tales from the Motor Pool**** to Scousemuz1k's wonderful ****Dad the Kids Aren't Always Wrong!**** high praise indeed.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: Ah, this is the last one of these I have to do for this story! I think I'll just go with the standard. I am not in any way claiming rights to the characters and settings that are in any way publically recognizable. I do not make even a penny off this work of fiction (sad, I know!), and this entire story has been written purely for the fun of it. **

**A/N: Okay, so this bit is really more of an addendum to the story, something to satisfy myself and everyone that wanted Agent Sparks to pay.**

Revenge. Retribution. Payback.

Whatever you wanted to call it, he'd been planning it for a while now. Half-formed thoughts swam through his head as he fell asleep for the past year and a half. Ever since that night he'd been told of his own demise, he'd been plotting the best way to make this man pay. His thoughts had often flitted to committing some act of violence against the bastard NSA agent, but in the end, he thought that poetic justice, and a sense of irony would be better. Make the man understand that Anthony DiNozzo _hated_ being played, and that he could and would strike back to prove that point. Of course, one does not pull off elaborate schemes alone…

Now they were waiting in the dark. The four of them, each taking separate areas of the unfamiliar apartment, all silent as statues. It was almost time, the climactic event, the big reveal. Tony was sitting in the recliner, he couldn't be happier with how their preparations had gone, and he was almost vibrating with the anticipation of Logan Sparks' entry. Though the apartment in which they waited was almost pitch black, there was enough ambient light for him to see that at her station by the door Ziva was fiddling with one of her knives, brought out from its box in her desk specifically for this occasion. He knew that behind him, taking a position next to the single living-room window McGee was watching for their target to approach the building's entrance. Finally, in sitting at the kitchen table, Gibbs was drinking coffee with both of the backup weapons that Sparks owned sitting on the table, taken to their pieces.

McGee gave the almost silent signal that Sparks had just entered and the four people stilled completely. Eventually, they could hear the unconcerned steps of the man approaching the door. When their target walked through his door, he had his head down, using the light from the hallway to examine the mail in his hands. He dropped the envelopes on the readily available table, and turned unconcernedly to the security system panel on the wall next to the door. Tony was happy to see that Sparks didn't even realize that there was anything amiss, it would make the next few seconds even better than he had expected.

Sparks disarmed his security system and flipped the light switch. In the brief moments that followed while everyone's eyes adjusted to the inordinately bright lights, Tony could hear Ziva react on instinct, easily disarming and immobilizing the man before he even knew it was happening. Tony watched confusion, fear, and anger play across Sparks' as the realization of his predicament dawned on him. Tony stood smiling, and took a couple of steps toward his nemesis.

"Well, well, Logan Sparks. We meet again." Tony's smile could be mistaken for friendly if there wasn't a cold look of distain in his eyes, "This time however, it is you that is the dead man."

Sparks' fury rose and he struggled against Ziva's expert hold, only to still completely when he felt the cold blade of her knife against his neck. "Like hell, DiNozzo. You'll never get away with this and I certainly won't make it easy," The NSA agent spat out venomously.

"Oh Logan! I can call you Logan, right? We're old pals here. Logan, even if you could escape a trained assassin-"

"Unlikely," Ziva said from behind Sparks.

"You wouldn't make it two steps before Gibbs and McGee each put two bullets in your chest. They'd probably hit at the exact same time even. McGee is a little bit closer, but Gibbs is faster. You'd be dead before you hit the floor." Tony paused so that Sparks could evaluate the truth of that statement, and watched his eyes shift from Gibbs to McGee and down as if he could see the still threatening knife.

"But I don't have to kill you Logan, you're already dead."

Sparks' eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the meaning of Tony's words tried to sink in.

"I can see you're not understanding. Maybe this will help." Tony pulled a sheet of paper out of the pocket of his coat and unfolded it for the other man. It was a printout of an online article that described a large apartment fire in Baltimore, but Tony could see that Sparks failed to connect the dots. "Tragically, you lost your life in this fire. Well, at least an illegal immigrant from Mexico who's been using your name and social security number died in the fire. It's kinda funny how these things happen, you're identity gets stolen and it makes your life hell."

Sparks scowled

"I can see you don't see the humor of the situation, but trust me, it's _very_ funny." Tony's face again wore a mean smile.

"It's really very carless of you to keep your taxes on your computer," McGee chimed in this time. "It makes it so easy for someone determined enough to break into your computer to steal that information along with your credit card numbers, your bank account numbers, and sell that information to the highest bidder."

"But, that's not possible! I…I watch for…the firewall should…" Logan Sparks protested.

"Oh Logan, don't you know that anything's possible in this wonderful internet age?" Tony chuckled. "Unfortunately, your identity thief decided to _live_ as you and has now _died_ as you. There's only supposed to be one person living under one social security number, the government now considers you dead, and let me tell you that sets off a whole chain of undesirable events."

A darkness passed through the NSA agent's eyes as comprehension dawned, "You! You-"

"Let's go over them, shall we?" Tony interrupts, a strange enthusiastic tone creeping into his voice. "For one, your bank has been notified and you no longer have access to any of your accounts. Two, your life insurance company is sending a check to your beneficiary, your ex-wife, I believe. You really should have had that changed after your divorce was final."

"Don't forget that his family will have been notified," McGee said helpfully.

"Oh right, of course, I wouldn't want to forget that. Have you talked to your mother recently? No? Well, that's too bad, she's likely to believe the nice government officials that come to her door and tell her that her oldest son is dead. Speaking of the government, what number are we up to? Four? Right, four, the government thinks you're dead, so your security clearance has been yanked and your job doesn't really exist any longer." Tony paused for dramatic effect and the murderous rage that he could see in the man still kept from striking out at him by Ziva's expert grip gave him a feeling of satisfaction.

"Don't forget the protocols," Gibbs nonchalantly commented as he took another sip of his coffee.

"Ah, yes! I have recently been made aware from a reliable source that all of you spies have Dead-Man Protocols that are activated, well, when you die. Apparently, all of your legitimate cover identities are destroyed, all contacts are farmed out to other agents, pertinent files find themselves engulfed in flames, any active matters of national security you're involved in are restructured so that no one _pretending_ to be you can access them, and basically the government ceases to take any responsibility for any of your actions, past and present."

As Tony finished he could see that Sparks visibly pale at the thought of everything about his life that was being destroyed. "You orchestrated all of this, didn't you?" he said in a low voice. "I'll get you for this!"

"Oh, you'll never be able to prove it. Identity theft is just one of those crimes that is hard to track down or prosecute," Tony said lightly, but then continued in a menacing voice "And if you try do anything else, even the wrath of God will pale in comparison to what will happen to you." That statement was accompanied by Ziva reasserting the presence of her knife and both Gibbs and McGee shifting for easier access to their weapons.

"Besides," Tony continued, "It's not like you can't get yourself declared alive again. Trust me, I know. The government in its infinite wisdom realized that it might accidentally declare people dead, and has plenty of paperwork for you to fill out to reverse that proclamation. Of course, it _does_ take awhile; you'll probably be cleaning up this mess for months."

McGee and Gibbs moved to stand next to Tony at this point, and Ziva released her captive. Sparks glared at all of them, rubbing at his wrists, but made no attempt to move considering the threatening looks he was receiving in return.

"Well, I'm pretty sure we're done here," Tony said brightly, "We'll just be going now. Good luck!"

With that, they all filed past the seething NSA agent and out of the apartment. Just as they all headed down the stairs, Tony could hear a crash of objects hitting the floor of Sparks' apartment along with a howl of frustration. He chuckled. Revenge, retribution, payback, it didn't matter what you wanted to call it, sometimes it was extremely satisfying.

**A/N: Well, that's that! I hope you enjoyed it. I am a little sad to see it end, but I am looking forward to writing the undercover mission in Blood Red Fields, and other ideas that I have. Thank you all of my readers, alert-ers, and reviewers, it has truly been a pleasure.**

**~Angel**


End file.
